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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

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HIS GRACE 












HIS GRACE 


BY 

W. E. NORRIS 

// 

AUTHOR OF 

“The Countess Radna,” “ Mysterious Mrs. Wilkinson,” etc. 


3 5 




NEW YORK 

STREET & SMITH 

238 William Street 

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A/ 2. 


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THF U5RARY OF 
CONGRESS, 

“Two Copies Received 

NOV, 4 1901 

COPVBtQHT ENTRY 

y$r- tfif 0 I 

CLASS CL/ XXo. No. 

0~ 0 i4-0 L> 

COPY A. 


Copyright, 1892, 

By UNITED STATES BOOK CO. 


Copyright, 1901, 

By STREET & SMITH 



HIS GRACE 


CHAPTER I. 

THE SACKED SOLICITOR. 

In the month of May, 1887, at which time, as will 
be remembered, preparations were being made for the 
fit celebrating of the jubilee of our most gracious 
Sovereign Lady Queen Victoria, I, Philip Martyn, was 
in a frame of mind very far removed from being jubi- 
lant. I don’t mean to say that I am, or was, one whit 
less loyal than other people — on the contrary, I am 
one of those quiet, law-abiding persons who are bound 
to be loyal to the form of government under which 
they live, and, notwithstanding my devotion to the 
House of Hanover, everything leads me to believe that, 
had a British Republic been proclaimed before the 
date of my birth, I should have been unreservedly loyal 
to that — but I suppose that with the generality of us 
our personal affairs and interests occupy a somewhat 
larger share of our attention than those of the nation 
at large, and the truth is that, on the particular after- 
noon to which I allude, I had clean forgotten the 
circumstance of her Majesty’s having reigned over us 
with honor and distinction for half a century. My per- 


6 


HIS GRACE. 


sonal affairs and interests were just then in a parlous 
state ; neither honor nor distinction had I achieved ; 
nor, so far as I could foresee, was there the slightest 
prospect that, in my case, diligence and conscientious 
effort would ever be crowned by those rewards. 

“ The long and the short of it, Philip,” my Uncle 
John said to me, as I helped him to struggle into his 
overcoat before he left the office, “ is that you are not 
fitted to take a leading part in a business like ours. 
Understand me, I am not blaming you ; I am merely 
stating a fact. There are men who are born to be 
lawyers, and there are other men who, I presume, were 
born to be something else ; though, if you’ll excuse my 
saying so, I’ll be hanged if I can lay my finger upon 
the especial purpose for which you were created. 
What I do know, and what it is better and kinder to 
tell you at once, is that you were not created to be a 
solicitor. I have had some experience of you by this 
time, and I think it only fair to warn you that you may 
stay here until your hair is gray without much hope of 
being taken into partnership. I am sorry for it ; but 
necessity has no law, and the law knows no neces- 
sities, except those imposed by Act of Parliament or 
by contracts duly signed and attested. Not being an 
idiot, I never contracted to make you a member of my 
firm ; although I am, of course, aware that that was 
what you and your mother looked forward to when I 
advised that you should pass your examinations and 
promised to find employment for you in the office. 
Personally, I should have been only too pleased to 
give you every encouragement : it is no fault of mine, 
and I daresay it is no fault of yours either, that I am 
unable to do so. You lack the requisite abilities, 


HIS GRACE . 


7 


that’s all. I am not making any complaint, mind you ; 
only, if I were in your place, I should drop the law and 
try to discover my real mission in life. As I said be- 
fore, I am not clever enough to assist you in your 
researches ; still, the odds are that you have a mission 
of one kind or another, because it seems scarcely 
reasonable to conclude that you can have been sent 
into an overcrowded world without any individual 
capacity for usefulness whatsoever.” 

It was not often that my uncle treated me to so pro- 
longed a harangue ; nor, I am sure, would he have 
done so then, had he not been very much in earnest 
and rather angry into the bargain. He had some ex- 
cuses for being angry with which it is needless to trouble 
the reader ; he was perfectly justified in intimating that 
I was not cut out to adorn a profession which I have 
always abhorred ; his advice that I should abandon it 
and seek some other field of enterprise would have 
been admirable, if I had possessed ever so small a pri- 
vate income upon which to subsist while awaiting better 
things. But, unhappily, I had nothing beyond what 
my mother was able to spare me out of her own strait- 
ened means ; and that was why I was a sorrowful man 
as I wended my way westwards after office hours. 

When I sat down to write this narrative, I made up 
my mind that I would say as little as possible about 
myself ; because in the course of it I shall only appear 
as what I actually am — a practical nonentity, whose 
disappearance at any moment from these earthly scenes 
would cause no appreciable inconvenience to anybody. 
But the difficulty of speaking in the first person when 
one is neither a hero nor anything resembling one is 
somewhat greater than I thought it was going to be ; 


8 


HIS GRACE. 


and it seems almost necessary, for purposes of clear- 
ness, that I should start by being a little egotistical. 
I must just mention that my father had been a wealthy 
merchant who had failed in business late in life and 
had died shortly afterwards, leaving his widow and his 
two children with only a few hundreds a year where- 
with to engage upon the struggle for existence ; I must 
add that I, who had been originally intended for the 
Guards, was compelled by force of circumstances to 
accept Uncle John’s suggestions with gratitude ; and I 
suppose I had better also confess without more ado 
that I had a certain facility for the composition of 
poetry. Nobody, I am sure, will be so unkind as to 
grudge me the privilege of calling my compositions 
poetry, because nobody who reads these lines is in the 
very least likely to have ever perused my poems. They 
have been published ; but my publisher assures me — 
and I can well believe him — that they have at no time 
had a wide circulation. At that time, however, it did 
not seem to me an impossible thing that the public 
might eventually recognize some merit in my attempts 
at versification and even go so far as to pay me for the 
same ; so that, on my way from the City to St. James’s 
Street I asked myself quite seriously whether it was 
not my probable mission in life to be a poet in a humble 
fashion. I have since discovered that my mission in 
life is essentially prosaic. One makes these discov- 
eries in the course of a year or two, and they are 
doubtless salutary, if they are not precisely agreeable. 

The first thing that I saw, after reaching my club 
and picking up one of the evening papers, was that 
the Duke of Hurstbourne was dead. The announce- 
ment interested me and served to divert my thoughts 


HIS GRACE. 


9 


for the moment from personal perplexities; because, 
although I had never seen the deceased nobleman, 
and although, as the newspaper obligingly informed 
its readers, he had not been in any sense a prominent 
personage, I remembered that my old schoolfellow 
Arthur Gascoigne had been his nephew and his heir- 
presumptive. The presumption had now been con- 
verted into a reality ; the small boy who had been my 
fag not so very long before, who had basked in my 
smiles and trembled at my frown, v/as a full-blown 
duke, while I was but a budding solicitor, not to say 
a solicitor who had been frostily nipped in the bud. 
Such are the revenges of time, and such the inequali- 
ties of human existence ! However, I was not so 
shabby as to grudge Gascoigne his promotion. We 
can’t all of us be dukes, and he had always been such 
a good little fellow that I had no doubt as to his event- 
ually proving quite as presentable a duke as the rest 
of his compeers. I had not seen much of him since 
old Eton days, our paths in life having naturally been 
so divergent ; still, we had come across one another 
every now and again, and he had always seemed glad 
to see me and chat over bygone times. I was glad to 
think that all this honor and wealth had come to him, 
because I suspected from what I had heard that he 
had become a somewhat extravagant young gentleman, 
and I knew that he was not rich. 

While I was holding the unread newspaper in my 
hand and meditating philosophically over the tremen- 
dous issues involved in a system of hereditary succes- 
sion, I was accosted by another member of the club who 
was also a former schoolfellow of mine, and who said — 

“ So old Hurstbourne has been gathered to his fathers 


IO 


HIS GRACE. 


at last, I see. Luck for little Gascoigne, isn’t it ? 
Though I suppose he’ll get nothing except the title 
and the entailed estates ; and what they’re worth no- 
body seems to know.” 

“ Why won’t he get anything more ? ” I inquired. 

“ Oh, because his uncle wouldn’t have anything to 
do with him — never saw him, in fact, I believe. There 
was a deadly feud between his father, Lord Charles, 
and the head of the family. What it was about I can’t 
say ; but they didn’t speak, and when Lord Charles 
died, the Duke, who, as you know lived and died a 
bachelor, rather ostentatiously took up Paul Gascoigne, 
Arthur’s cousin. I expect he has left the whole of the 
London property, which is worth any amount of money, 
to Paul. Still, Arthur ought to do middling well with 
the estates which are bound to be his, and most likely 
his mother will manage to pick up an heiress for him 
to marry. Ever meet Lady Charles ? ” 

I had not had that advantage, and I said so. 

“ Queer old girl,” resumed my well-informed friend, 
with an amused smile. “ Not a bad old sort, in her 
way, though she isn’t exactly the sort of mother whom 
I should covet personally. As she isn’t one’s mother, 
one only laughs, don’t you know ; but if she were one’s 
mother, I daresay one might writhe occasionally. Ar- 
thur doesn’t writhe. He’s such a good-hearted little 
beggar that he couldn’t for the life of him see a fault 
in anybody whom he was fond of ; and, after all, he’s 
quite right to be fond of her, for she adores him and 
thinks nothing good enough for him. She was an 
heiress herself once upon a time ; but that old rip 
Lord Charles made ducks and drakes of her fortune, 
they say. Anyhow, she has been pretty hard up of 


HIS GRACE. 


II 


late years. It’s rather a joke — only, of course, as you 
don’t know her, you can’t see the joke — that in a few 
months’ time Lady Charles will be doing the honors at 
Hurstbourne Castle.” 

He had a good deal more to say about the late Duke 
of Hurstbourne, who, it appeared, had been an indi- 
vidual of eccentric and retiring disposition, as well as 
about the quarrels and peculiarities of the Gascoigne 
family in general ; but I did not listen very attentively 
to his prattle. I had family affairs of my own to think 
about which, if less interesting to him and the world 
at large than those of a duke, were far more so to me, 
and it did not seem likely that I should have any fur- 
ther personal relations with the newly-elevated member 
of the highest rank in the peerage. I remember that, 
while he was talking, I felt vaguely sorry that circum- 
stances should have rendered me such a complete out- 
cast from high society — not because I cared for high 
society, of which I had little knowledge or experience, 
but because I cared a good deal for Arthur Gascoigne. 
Nowadays I sometimes wonder what can have made 
me care for him at a time when, after all, I was but 
slightly acquainted with him. He himself declares 
that it must have been my immense superiority to him 
in the matter of physical size and strength ; for indeed 
I am a big, muscular man, whereas he is a diminutive 
and' not very powerful one, though, heaven knows, he 
has the pluck of a whole regiment ! 

“ My dear Martyn,” says he — I don’t mind repeating 
this, because there isn’t a word of truth in it — “ it is 
your nature to think of anybody and everybody in the 
world before you think of yourself ; and as nothing 
would induce you to admit that you have twice the 


12 


HIS GRACE. 


brains of other people, you are driven to place your 
biceps at their service. It stands to reason that a poor, 
unprotected pigmy must have irresistible claims upon 
you, and that, you may depend upon it, is what made 
you resolve to be my friend and champion.” 

All that is very great nonsense. I do not quote it 
in order to make the reader think me modest and un- 
selfish, but only to convey some idea of the simplicity 
of Hurstbourne’s character. It does not occur to him 
that he possesses any individual attraction — and in 
truth the attraction which he unquestionably does pos- 
sess would be a little difficult to define — if anyone tries 
to be a friend to him, he at once assumes that that per- 
son must be abnormally noble and generous. Perhaps 
that is one reason why he continues to the present day 

to love and admire his mother, who However, if I 

have to say anything disparaging about her, I will say 
it later on. 

At the time of which I speak I naturally took it for 
granted that the Duke of Hurstbourne must henceforth 
move in a sphere as remote from my own as that of 
any duke must of necessity be ; yet dukes and beggars 
do come across one another in the street, and it was in 
the street that I found myself face to face with my for- 
mer fag a few days later. The street was muddy, too, 
after a recent shower, and he came running across it 
in his patent-leather boots to shake hands with me ; 
which seems to show that some people may be dukes 
without realizing that it behooves them to beckon their 
friends through the mud when they wish to speak to 
them. 

“ Well, old chap,” said he, “ how has the world been 
treating you this last ever so long ? ” 


HIS GRACE. 


1 3 


“ Not with the same liberality,” I replied somewhat 
gloomily, “ as it has treated you. I have not lost a 
wealthy and noble uncle, for the sufficient reason that 
I have no wealthy or noble uncle to lose. At least, I 
believe Uncle John is pretty well off ; but he is not dead 
or going to die ; and when he does die, nothing can be 
more certain than that he won’t leave me a penny. At 
present he is anxious to make it clear to me that I shall 
not get many pence out of him even while he lives. 
All the same, I am glad to think that you are more 
fortunate.” 

“ Oh, well,” he answered, with a laugh, “ I don’t ex- 
pect my old uncle meant me to be any more fortunate 
than he could help. I haven’t an idea at this moment 
whether I am a rich man or a pauper ; but I shall hear 
all about it after the funeral to-morrow, I suppose. 
What’s up between you and your old man ? Not a 
row, I hope ? It’s awful cheek for me to offer you ad- 
vice ; but really, my dear old Martyn, I wouldn’t quar- 
rel with him if I were you. When all’s said and done, 
he has it in his power to make you or mar you — hasn’t 
he now ? ” 

That was Hurstbourne all over. People who think 
that they know him, but who are in reality far too stupid 
to be even remotely conscious of their own stupidity, 
are wont to describe him as an excitable, scatter- 
brained, pleasure-loving sort of fellow, and to assume 
as a matter of course that, because he likes amusing 
himself, his personal amusement must invariably oc 
cupy the foremost place in his thoughts. How many 
of them, I wonder, if they had just succeeded to a 
dukedom and were absolutely in the dark as to whether 
their strawberry-leaves had brought them, immense 


14 


HIS GRACE. 


wealth or comparative poverty would deem the fortunes 
or misfortunes of a humble lawyer worthy of their at- 
tention ? Yet I verily believe that Hurstbourne, after 
I had told him something of the troubles and perplexi- 
ties to which I was a prey, was a good deal more anx- 
ious about my prospects than he was about his own. 

“Well, we must get you out of that beastly office 
somehow,” he said at length ; “ there’s no good in stick- 
ing to work that you hate — especially after the old boy 
has given you such a broad hint to retire. I wonder 
whether I couldn’t get some sort of appointment for 
you — a county-court judgeship, don’t you know, or 
something. I’m afraid I’m not going to be a very big 
man; still, the title ought to carry a certain amount 
of influence with it. Anyhow, Lord Chancellors and 
people of that kind would be pretty sure to receive me 
civilly if I went and looked them up, eh ? ” 

I thought it quite likely that the Lord Chancellor 
would be civil to the Duke of Hurstbourne, and it 
seemed hardly worth while to explain that I was not 
eligible for a county-court judgeship. Few indeed are 
the appointments which in these democratic days can 
be bestowed, without questions asked, upon the nomi- 
nee of a duke, even though that duke should be, as 
Hurstbourne was, the head of one of the old and 
formerly powerful Whig families, and I had common- 
sense enough to be aware that, if I was ever to earn 
my own bread and butter, I should have to do so by 
my own exertions. However, I did not wish to distress 
my kind-hearted little would-be benefactor by throwing 
doubts upon his ability to help me, and when we parted, 
he clapped me on the shoulder (he had to stand on tip* 
toe to do it), saying cheerily — 


ms GRACE. 


15 


\ 


“ Don’t you be down on your luck, old man ; it will 
be all right. Just wait a bit until I’ve had time to get 
into the saddle, and you’ll see that I sha’n’t forget 
you. * 

As I afterwards found out, he really did not forget 
me during the three or four ensuing weeks, although 
I’am afraid I must confess that I forgot him : at all 
events, I did not think of him much or often. I did 
chance to hear, through the newspapers and from private 
sources, what his inheritance amounted to, and a very 
fine inheritance it sounded, notwithstanding the some- 
what ungenerous will of the late duke, who, as had 
been anticipated, was found to have bequeathed the 
entire London property as well as a goodly portion of 
his northern estates to Mr. Paul Gascoigne. However, 
my young friend got Hurstbourne Castle, together with 
the lands appertaining thereto, which were estimated 
to bring in an income sufficient (as it appeared to me) 
for the maintenance of a magnate of the first water. 
I saw no reason to pity him ; and as I had at the mo- 
ment many and great reasons for pitying myself, I rele- 
rated him to one of those back shelves in my memory 
which I do not generally examine except when I can’t 
sleep at night. 

I suppose Uncle John must have wanted very much 
indeed to get rid of me, and, all things considered, I 
can’t say that I wonder at it ; but I still think that he 
might have attained his object without being so em- 
phatically disagreeable and so disagreeably emphatic. 
Perhaps it is easier to forgiv^great injuries than small 
ones ; perhaps it would not be true to say that my uncle 
ever inflicted any real injury, great or small, upon me ; 
yet even now when I am independent of him and 


i6 


HIS GRACE. 


cherish no grudge against him, I cannot recall the 
sharp speeches which he used to address to me in those 
days without feeling the blood mount into my cheeks 
and my eyes. I only remained on at the office day 
after day because it was necessary and because I could 
not, for the sake of asserting my personal dignity, throw 
the weight of supporting my great, useless body upon 
my poor old mother’s already overburdened hands. I 
suppose Uncle John knew that, and it may be that he 
allowed a more free rein to his tongue in consequence. 
Well, it is all over, and it doesn’t matter, and I admit 
that he is a very decent sort of man, as men go ; only 
of course my forbearance was exercised to little pur- 
pose,- for when once that kind of thing begins the 
sooner the inevitable end comes the better. 

In my case it came one afternoon when my uncle 
told me before all his clerks that I understood rather 
less of my business than the first crossing-sweeper 
whom he could pick up in the street. He had said 
worse things than that to me before ; but he had not 
said them in so public a manner, and it seemed to me 
that, under the circumstances, the only possible course 
open to me was that which I made haste to adopt. 
Shortly afterwards I walked away from the City a free 
man and a practically penniless one. 

I was making for the club and was walking moodily 
along Piccadilly when a little man in beautifully-fitting 
black clothes — never in his life has Hurstbourne had 
a wrinkle about his person from the crown of his head 
to the sole of his foot — caught me by the arm, exclaim- 
ing, “ Here’s luck ! You’re the very man I wanted to 
meet. Come and dine with me at the Clarence at 
eight o’clock, like a good fellow, will you ? I’m in a 


HIS GRACE. 


1 7 

deuce of a hurry now; but I’ve got something to say to 
you, and I’ll say it this evening, if you’ll come. Are 
you disengaged ? ” 

I was disengaged and perhaps not disinclined to con- 
fide my woes to a sympathetic listener; so when — 
about twenty minutes after the appointed hour — he 
arrived at the very smart and modern club which he 
had named, he found me waiting for him there. He 
did not apologize for being late ; but he apologized pres- 
ently for the dinner and the wine, neither of which 
stood in need of any apology, and then he proceeded 
to apologize also for a proposal which he wished to 
make to me. 

“ I daresay,” he began, in deprecating accents, “ it 
isn’t exactly what you would choose ; but it’s better 
than nothing, and it needn’t be permanent, unless 
you like. The fact is that I have been talking to some 
of these big-wigs, and they all assure me that they 
can’t do anything for a solicitor. Barristers, they say, 
they might be able to help ; but I expect that’s only 
because I wasn’t asking them to help a barrister. 
Well, to cut a long story short, what I want you to 
do, if you will, is to manage my establishment and my 
expenditure for me. It’s very evident to me that 
somebody must do it, or I shall soon get things into 
a rare mess. There’s a land-steward and a house- 
steward and a lot of other rascals; but unless they 
have a gentleman over them, to keep them up to their 
bearings, they’ll rob me right and left ; and as soon as 
I realized this I made so bold as to think of you, 
Martyn. I really don’t believe you would find it such 
a bad berth. You would live at Hurstbourne and 
have your own rooms — as many of ’em as you wanted 
2 


H/S GRACE. 


l8 

— and there would be horses for you to ride, and of 
course the shooting. I can’t help thinking that a 
country-life would suit an athletic fellow like you 
better than office-work in this filthy town; besides 
which, you would have the comfort, which I know 
would be a very real comfort to you, of thinking that 
you were doing me the greatest possible service. I ’ve 
no head for figures, you see, and my only chance of 
averting an appalling financial disaster is to commit 
my affairs to someone whom I can thoroughly trust.” 

He went into a few details, which certainly seemed 
to bear out his assertion that he was not very well 
qualified to take care of himself in a financial sense ; 
he explained what my duties would be, and I did not 
think them beyond the range of my capacities ; finally 
he named a salary so preposterously high that I could 
not in common honesty accept it. But I did, after 
some hesitation, accept the post offered to me. I 
knew very well that it was offered to me out of the 
kindness and generosity of his heart, and that, if I did 
not take it, the appointment would probably not be 
filled by anybody else ; still, I hope I was not ab- 
solutely and entirely selfish in the matter. Looking 
back upon it, I am able to say with a clear conscience 
that I have been of some service to him and have 
earijd my pay : even at the moment I might, perhaps, 
have resisted the temptation, powerful as it was, had I 
not foreseen that he would at least not be a loser by 
employing me. 

He was so pleased by my consent to let him relieve 
me of the cares which had almost broken my heart that 
he jumped up from his chair to shake hands with me, 
knocking over a decanter and scandalizing the prim 


HIS GRACE. 


1 9 

waiter, who.no doubt thought that he had drunk more 
wine than was good for him. 

“ My dear old chap,” he exclaimed, “ this is awfully 
good of you, and I don’t know how to thank you enough. 
My mother will be delighted when she hears of it ; for 
she knows, if anybody does, that I am the worst hand 
in the world at keeping accounts. We really ought to 
have another bottle of fizz to celebrate this joyful occa- 
sion. Waiter, bring another bottle of that stuff which 
they have the cheek to call ’74 Giessler.” 

As I am a Christian man, I left that club perfectly 
sober, yet perfectly convinced that I had behaved like 
a friend in need. And, indeed, I believe that such is 
the impression which my poor dear Hurstboume inva- 
riably manages to convey to those whom he has 
befriended. 


20 


Mp GRACE . 


CHAPTER II. 

NORA. 

The next morning I had a second interview with 
Hurstbourne, in the course of which my duties and re- 
sponsibilities were somewhat more clearly defined for 
me than they had been on the previous evening. I was, 
it appeared, to be invested with plenary powers as re- 
garded the management of the Hurstbourne Castle estate 
and establishment; I was to “get things straight,” if I 
could ; I was to effect any reductions which might have 
to be effected ; above all, I was entreated not to let my 
young friend spend more money than he possessed. 

“ Because,” said he ingenuously, “ I know very well 
that that’s what I shall do, unless you ride me in a 
rather sharp bit. I never could see such an awful lot 
of difference between a sovereign and a shilling, and I 
don’t suppose I ever shall. But if you’ll have the kind- 
ness just to take a good, strong pull at me when you 
think I’m getting my head up too much, it’ll be all right. 
I don’t want to be bothered about five-pound notes, you 
understand ; but at the same time I don’t want to come 
a cropper.” 

What he precisely did want was not easy to ascertain, 
nor, I suppose, were his own ideas particularly distinct 
as yet ; only he had a very decided and not very un- 


HIS GRACE. 


21 


natural desire to get all the fun that he could for his 
money, and I gathered that, what with yachting, deer- 
stalking, and the claims of London society, he would 
not spend more than three or four months of the year 
at his ancestral castle. 

“ When I am at Hurstbourne, though, I shall make it 
lively for you,” he added encouragingly, “ and when 
you’re alone — well, you’ll have the neighbors, and I 
daresay there will be work enough to keep you busy 
for a few hours every day, and in the winter you ought 
to get plenty of sport. Anyhow, you can but give the 
plan a trial and drop it if it doesn’t suit you.” 

The plan was quite certain to suit me better than any 
other that could have been devised on my behalf, and 
I am sure he knew that, or he would never have asked 
me to undertake it. I said as much to him when 
we parted ; but he scouted the idea of my having any- 
thing to thank him for, protesting loudly that the 
obligation was all the other way. So, as there was not 
much more to be said, and as he apparently had a great 
many engagements, I left him, promising to let him 
hear from me as soon as I should have taken up my 
abode at Hurstbourne Castle, and the same afternoon I 
journeyed down to Essex, in order to inform my mother 
of the change which had occurred in my fortunes. 

My mother, I should mention, still lived in the neigh- 
borhood where we had been accustomed to reign 
supreme in the days of our prosperity. When the crash 
came, and when my father, by good luck, had found 
an immediate purchaser for Fern Hill in Lady Deverell, 
we had gone up to London for a time ; but after his 
death my mother, having no ties elsewhere, had thought 
it best to return to the old county, and there she and my 


22 


HIS GRACE . 


sister Nora dwelt in a modest cottage, not more than a 
mile from what had formerly been our own park gates. 
It sounds like a rather painful arrangement, and perhaps 
it was so to Nora, but I don’t think my mother felt it 
much. The truth is that, after our great misfortune, 
she never felt anything very much. All the same, there 
could be no doubt but that the news of my rupture with 
Uncle John would cause her pain and anxiety ; so that 
I was very thankful to be able to couple this announce- 
ment with another to the effect that I had obtained at 
least temporary employment of a much more remuner- 
ative character. 

I found her seated in the little, shabbily-furnished 
drawing-room, and very frail and old and ill she looked, 
though she summoned up a smile to welcome me and 
did her best to disguise what was so evident — that she 
was in mortal terror lest this unexpected arrival of 
mine should portend some fresh calamity. There are 
people whom it makes one’s heart ache to see deprived 
of the luxuries which seem to be their birthright — 
people upon whom comparative indigence entails as 
much actual suffering as positive want does upon those 
of more robust temperament — and my poor mother was 
one of these. She had been brought up in cotton- 
wool ; she had always been delicate and had always 
been assiduously taken care of ; never until her old 
age had she known what it was to lack every comfort 
that money could buy ; it was a perpetual miracle to me 
that she had had the physical strength to survive the 
successive blows which had shattered her small world 
into fragments. As for her uncomplaining courage, I 
did not wonder so much at that, for she was well-born, 
and that she should do her duty to the best of her 


HIS GRACE. 


23 


ability was no more than was to be expected of her. 

The tiny white hands that held her knitting-pins 
trembled while I unfolded my tale, and so did the gray 
curls, which have been arranged after the same fashion 
on either side of her thin face since the year 1840 
or thereabouts, for I am a clumsy, methodical fellow, 
and I can’t unfold any tale unless I begin at the be- 
ginning ; but she did not interrupt me, and she heaved 
a long sigh of relief when she heard that, in spite of 
my ill-advised quarrel with her brother-in-law, I was 
not left without the means of earning my subsistence. 

“ I am sure you know best, Philip,” she said, when I 
had made an end of speaking, “ and I daresay you will 
be happier at Hurstbourne Castle than you would have 
been in London ; but isn’t it a rather uncertain sort of 
prospect ? ” 

Well, of course it was that ; only, as I pointed out to 
her, Uncle John had offered me no prospect at all, 
except that of being assisted out into the street, if I did 
not adopt a more dignified plan of stepping over his 
threshold of my own accord. She was easily reassured, 
She had lost the power of looking far ahead ; probably 
also she thought, what ought to be quite true, that an 
able-bodied man is never in any real danger of starving. 
Naturally enough, she was less confident with regard 
to my sister’s future, and I was not surprised when she 
presently appealed to me to say what was to become of 
a girl who had been educated as a lady (and was con- 
sequently quite incompetent to educate others) in the 
event of her being left alone and penniless in the world. 
What indeed ! My mother had put this question to me 
many a time before, and never had I been able to make 
any satisfactory reply. 


24 


HIS GRACE. 


“ Let us hope that she will marry,” said I ; for I could 
hit upon nothing more original or more comforting to say. 

“ Yes,” assented my mother, “ that is what we must 
hope for ; and even if she should not make such a mar- 
riage as we might have thought desirable in old days, 
we must still be thankful that she has found a home. 
This afternoon she has gone over to Fern Hill to see 
Lady Deverell, who has been most kind to her. Lady 
Deverell is really a good, kind woman ! ” 

My mother said this as if she rather expected to be 
contradicted, and, as a matter of fact, I did not alto- 
gether agree with her ; but, not wishing to be argument- 
ative, I thought it would save time to inquire at once 
whether Lady Deverell had selected a husband for Nora. 
I obtained no reply, for at this moment my mother 
dropped her ball of wool, which she begged me to pick up 
for her, saying that the housemaid always made a point 
of entangling her legs in it when it was left on the floor ; 
and before I was off my knees Nora herself had come 


As my sister Nora is one of the personages chiefly 
concerned in the simple narrative which I have under- 
taken to relate, I should be glad, if I could, to convey 
some accurate impression of her ; but my own impres- 
sion of her is, I suppose, a good deal colored by frater- 
nal partiality, and it may very well be that she did not 
appear such a strikingly pretty girl to everybody as she 
always appeared to me. Still I do think, that almost 
everybocT^jwould have admitted the fact of her pret- 
tiness if only in virtue of her dark blue eyes and long, 
curved eyelashes. Such eyes are unquestionably both 
rare and beautiful, and although the rest of her features 
may not have been absolutely perfect, she had the 


HIS GRACE. 


2 5 


advantage of a complexion above all criticism. Beauty, 
as we all know, admits of no closer definition than 
something at which we find pleasure in gazing ; and I 
have reason to believe that I am by no means the only 
man who finds pleasure in gazing at my sister. 

What seems to show that there must be something 
wrong about the above definition is that she found and 
expressed unbounded pleasure in gazing at me. And 
yet who can tell ? It is not impossible that in her 
eyes my homely countenance may, by reason of her 
affection for me, have been glorified by some distant 
suggestion of that comeliness which Nature has denied 
to it. Anyhow, she was as glad to see me as I was to 
see her. “ But, my dear Phil,” said she presently, “ you 
might have gone to the expense of a sixpenny telegram 
before bouncing in upon us like this. If I had only 
known you were coming, I wouldn’t have promised to 
dine with Lady Deverell to-night. I’ll tell you what 
you shall do, you shall come and dine there with me. 
It isn’t a party, and she won’t at all mind my bringing 
you ; but, to make assurance doubly sure, I’ll write her 
a line, saying that you are here for twenty-four hours 
— of course you can’t have got leave for more than 
twenty-four hours — and that really I cannot do without 
you for a whole evening out of that short time.” 

I demurred to this proposition, because Lady Deverell 
was not exactly the sort of person with whom I felt in- 
clined to take a liberty ; but my mother rather eagerly 
backed Nora up, and the end of it was that, five minutes 
later, the boy who cleaned the knives and boots, and 
was supposed to weed the garden, was despatched to 
Fern Hill with a note. He returned before the dress- 
ing hour, bearing a scrawl in pencil from Lady Deverell, 


26 


HIS GRACE. 


which Nora handed to me : — “Very happy to see your 
brother, my dear. Sorry I have no lady for him.” 

Poor people, and people who have seen better days, 
are doubtless apt to detect slights when perhaps none 
have been intended. I confess that I did not like what 
seemed to me to be a somewhat studied lack of cere- 
mony on Lady Deverell’s part ; but then, for the matter 
of that, I did not like Lady Deverell ; and, after all, it 
was we, and not she, who had begun by being uncere- 
monious. 

At the risk of being suspected of a jealous prejudice 
against the two people who had done the most good in 
the parish since our losses had debarred my mother 
from taking any pecuniary share in works of charity, I 
will confess that, if we had a neighbor whom I disliked 
more than Lady Deverell, it was Mr. Burgess, our re- 
spected rector ; so that I was not overjoyed to find him 
standing in the well-known drawing-room, with his hands 
behind his back and his legs wide apart, just as he had 
been used to stand in the old days when he came to 
dine with us, and when his manner in addressing us 
had been so very different. He addressed me now in 
a tone of kindly patronage, holding out his fat hand, 
calling me, “ My young friend,” and expressing a hope 
that I was sticking to work. 

“ Work — work ! Nothing like work for keeping the 
body and the mind healthy, you may depend upon it,” 
he was pleased to say. 

His body was unquestionably, not to say obtrusively, 
healthy ; I cannot answer for the state of his mind ; 
but in any case I really did not think, from what I knew 
of him, that he could have arrived at that pitch of happy 
certitude through personal experience of the means 


HIS GRACE. 


27 


recommended. Thirty years ago Mr. Burgess would, I 
imagine, have been a prominent Evangelical, for he was 
a stout, heavy man, with bushy eyebrows, a long upper 
lip and a great, foolish nose ; living in this later epoch, 
he had become known as a somewhat advanced High 
Churchman. He could not possibly make himself look 
the part, which was a pity ; but he had a fine sonorous 
voice, and his method of singing the service was ad- 
mired by some people. Indeed to be quite fair, I 
believe there were also some people who admired his 
sermons. Just now he was entitled to the respectful 
sympathy of his parishioners, having recently suffered 
a severe bereavement in the death of his wife, who had 
left him with the cares of ministering to a large small 
family upon his hands. 

Mr. Burgess, it appeared, was the only guest besides 
ourselves who had been invited to dine ; but there were 
a number of people staying in the house, none of whom 
struck me as being particularly interesting. Lady Dev- 
erell, who was as rich as she was pious, was given to 
hospitality ; but I imagine that she preferred entertain- 
ing those whom she could safely bully — old maids, mis- 
sionaries at home on leave, and so forth. After din- 
ner she put me through my facings in her usual abrupt, 
peremptory fashion. Why was I giving up my profes- 
sion ? Didn’t I think that, if there was any disagree- 
ment between my uncle and myself, the chances were 
in favor of the older and more experienced man being 
in the right ? Had my management of my own affairs 
been so successful that I could count with any certainty 
upon success in managing the affairs of a friend ? She 
drew herself up and looked more forbidding than ever 
when she heard who my friend was. 


28 


HIS GRACE . 


“ Oh, indeed ! ” said she, in accents of cold displeas- 
ure. “ I am not acquainted with the present Duke of 
Hurstbourne ; but if he at all resembles his father, his 
house is not one in which I should wish to see any son 
of mine take up his abode.” 

I was sufficiently irritated to reply that I had never in 
my wildest dreams contemplated the honor of calling 
Lady Deverell my mother as a conceivable state of 
things, and that a man in my humble position could 
not, of course, aspire to her exclusiveness. Thereupon 
she stared at me for a moment and turned her back. 
She is a tall, gaunt woman, with a beaky nose, rather 
sunken black eyes and iron-gray hair. I do not think 
that I have ever been exactly afraid of her, but no 
doubt I should have been less uncivil to her if she had 
been less alarming. 

Moreover, I was, I must own, in a rather bad temper 
at the time, having other reasons besides my hostess’s 
impertinence for feeling annoyed. I did not like, and 
I never had liked, Mr. Burgess’s manner with my sister. 
Of course he was old enough to be her father, and he 
had baptized her and prepared her for confirmation 
and all that ; still, there was something about his pon- 
derous and paternal playfulness in addressing her which 
had always been offensive to me, and which I could 
not help thinking was displayed to an unusual extent 
that evening. It would have been as absurd to accuse 
this elderly clerical widower of flirtation as to connect 
any idea of delicate innuendo with a bluebottle fly; 
still, I was so provoked by the way in which he kept 
buzzing round Nora that I took her away at the earliest 
possible moment, on the plea that, as I had to leave 
home the next morning, I wished to see as much as I 


HIS GRACE . 


2 9 


could of my family before going to bed. Mr. Burgess 
followed us into the hall and was anxious to drive us 
home in his pony chaise, but I firmly declined his prof- 
fered courtesy, declaring that, on such a lovely night, 
we should both of us much prefer to walk home across 
the fields. 

“ I can’t imagine,” said I, as we passed out of the 
garden into the park together (for in my unreasonable, 
masculine way I was a little vexed with Nora, as well 
as with the Rector), “ what pleasure you can find in 
listening to the oily egotism of that old bore.” 

“ Can’t you ? ” she returned, without meeting my 
eyes. “ But — did I say I found any pleasure in 
it ? ” 

“ No ; you didn’t say so,” I admitted ; “ but really 
anybody who had watched you with him to-night might 
have thought you did. His spirits don’t seem to have 
been much affected by his loss. I suppose the next thing 
we shall hear will be that he has appointed some worthy 
successor to the vacant place in his affections.” 

“Yes,” agreed Nora absently; “ I shouldn’t wonder.” 

Unlike Mr. Burgess, Nora was evidently out of spirits. 
She did not listen to what I said ; she did not laugh at 
the time-honored jokes with which we had been in the 
habit of diverting one another from our infancy, and 
which I had never before known to pall upon either of 
us. It was only when I reminded her of that memo- 
rable occasion on which the old cab-horse — a designa- 
tion conferred by us upon our esteemed pastor in com- 
pliment to certain peculiarities of action — had slipped 
up while ambling down the chancel, and had seated 
himself with a resounding crash upon the tiles, display- 
ing the soles of his immense feet to his flock — it was 


3 ° 


HIS GRACE. 


only then, I say, that she roused herself from hef 
abstraction, and suddenly laid her hand upon my arm. 

“ Phil,” said she, “ I don’t want you to call Mr. Bur- 
gess the old cab-horse any more ; I don’t want you to 
say anything disagreeable about him, if you can help 
it. Because — don’t look at me, please — because — I 
am going to marry him.” 

I don’t remember what answer I made ; but I suppose 
I must have said that such a thing was impossible, and 
added some strong expressions ; for I remember how 
gently and patiently the poor girl exerted herself, as we 
walked on, to make me understand that she had taken 
a step from which she had no intention of receding. 
She did not pretend to be enamoured of Mr. Burgess 
— that would have been a little too ridiculous — but she 
assured me that he expected nothing of the sort, that 
the prospect of keeping house for him and looking after 
his children was not such a very disagreeable one to 
her, that he had been extremely kind, as had also Lady 
Deverell, who approved of the match, and that my 
mother’s consent had been willingly given. 

“ But, gracious Heavens ! ” I exclaimed, “ if it is 
necessary for you to marry somebody — which I suppose 
is what you mean — aren’t there dozens of other men in 
England who would be only too glad to marry you ? 
Besides, the old wretch has only just buried his wife. 
To my mind, his conduct is downright indecent ! ” 

“ The dozens of men who are so eager to marry me 
haven’t found their way into Essex,” answered Nora, 
with a faint smile ; “ and, as for the wedding, there 
won’t be any indecent haste about it. Mr. Burgess 
wishes me to take my own time, and says he would 
rather our engagement was not formally announced yet. 


HIS GRACE . 


31 

Indeed, I hope — I mean I think — that he will not ask 
me to leave home while mamma lives.” 

“ Is that it ? ” I asked, with a quick pang of appre- 
hension. “ Is she worse, then ? ” 

“Yes, much worse. She didn’t want you to know, 
because she said there was no use in distressing you ; 
but about a month ago she was very ill for a few days, 
and the doctor told me plainly that in cases of heart- 
disease, like hers, the end may come at any moment. 
Only it is quite possible that she may live on for years, 
if we can save her from worry and anxiety. Now, do 
you understand, Phil ? Of course she is anxious and 
worried now, not knowing how you will take this news, 
and you must pretend to be pleased — anyhow, to be 
resigned. I don’t ask you to be pleased with me, and 
if you can’t help being disgusted with me — well, you 
can’t help it. But you won’t say so before her, will 
you ? ” 

I had to give the pledge required of me ; I didn’t 
see at the time, and I don’t see now, how I could have 
acted otherwise. Nevertheless, I said to myself very 
decidedly that, if Mr. Burgess ever married my sister, 
it should be no fault of mine. It was bad enough that, 
for the present and for my mother’s sake, he must be 
allowed to consider himself engaged to her. 

“ Don’t look so miserable, Phil,” said Nora ; “ it will 
all come right in the end, you’ll see.” 

And I could not but wonder whether, in the inmost 
recesses of her heart, h6r intentions with regard to the 
good Rector might not, perhaps, be as perfidious as 
my own. 


3 * 


HIS GRACE. 


CHAPTER III. 

HIS GRACE AND HIS MOTHER. 

After what had been told me I anticipated a rather 
painful interview with my mother, and it is not unlikely 
that she may have anticipated a painful interview with 
me. If so, it was, I hope, as great a relief to her as it 
was to me to find our respective apprehensions ground- 
less. Wonderfully little passed between us upon the 
subject of Nora’s proposed marriage. She said, with 
an appealing glance at me, that she believed all had 
been arranged for the best, and I refrained from putting 
forward a contrary opinion ; then something was said 
about Nora’s love for children, and the respect and 
affection with which she had always regarded Mr. Bur- 
gess ; it was further stated by one of us, and assented 
to by the other, that a considerable disparity of age 
between husband and wife constitutes no necessary 
drawback to matrimonial felicity ; finally, the para- 
mount importance of securing a home for one who might 
any day be left destitute was recognized on both sides ; 
after which we hastened to speak about other matters. 
I suppose the truth was that we were both heartily 
ashamed of ourselves. 

And yet my mother, poor old lady, had no such great 
reason to feel ashamed. This preposterous union had 


HIS GRACE. 


33 


not, as I gathered, been suggested or promoted by her ; 
Lady Deverell and Mr. Burgess appeared to have done 
the courtship between them, and the responsibility of 
having brought it to a successful issue rested upon 
them, in so far as it did not rest upon Nora herself. 

“ But the whole thing has really been my own doing, 
Phil,” Nora declared, when I gave expression to the 
above sentiment before taking leave of her. “ I don’t 
want to beg my bread, and I don’t know how to earn 
it; so ” 

She shrugged her shoulders and made a grimace 
which, I daresay, was intended to convince me what a 
heartless and selfish little cynic she was. 

That was not the impression produced upon me by 
it, for her eyes were swimming in tears, and I knew 
her too well to suspect her of heartlessness or selfish- 
ness ; but what could I do, except answer in a hurried 
and shamefaced manner that I supposed beggars must 
not be choosers ? If I had spoken kindly to her, she 
would only have broken down, which would have done 
neither her nor me nor my mother any good. As I 
said before, I was resolved not to let her marry old 
Burgess ; but I believe I was wrong in hinting, at the 
end of the last chapter, that she herself had any ar- 
riere-pensee in the matter, beyond a not unpardonable 
desire to put off the evil day as long as might be. The 
sacrifice which she contemplated is one which is made 
by hundreds — thousands, perhaps — of women every 
year, and since the results are seldom openly tragic, 
no doubt their examples encourage the others. I 
should not think, however, that there can be many men 
to whom the idea of marriage without love is anything 
short of inherently repulsive. 


3 


34 


HIS GRACE. 


This being so, and the circumstances admitting of 
no immediate action on my part, I was glad to turn 
away from the connection of any such thought with my 
sister ; for the first time in my life I was glad to leave 
her and to betake myself to Hurstbourne Castle, where, 
as it turned out, there was plenty of work waiting for 
me with which to occupy my mind. 

Hurstbourne Castle ought, perhaps, rather to be 
known as Hurstbourne Palace, for it certainly is not a 
castle in the strict sense of the word, having been built 
in the sixteenth century upon the site of the ancient 
feudal structure which was demolished to make way 
for it. The late Duke (so I have been told by a lady 
who knew him) once remarked that it was a fine place 
to look at, and suitable for purposes of entertainments 
on a large scale, but that he should be sorry to be 
condemned to live there. As a matter of fact he did 
not live there, preferring the adjacent estate of Laven- 
ham, which he had purchased, and where there was a 
large modern house surrounded by gardens, upon the 
cultivation of which he had expended a small fortune. 
Hurstbourne he had been accustomed to make use of 
two or three times in the course of the year for the pur- 
pose just mentioned, and possibly his dislike for the 
place may have been connected with his well-known 
dislike for entertaining upon a large scale. His enor- 
mous wealth enabled him to maintain an enormous 
establishment in a residence which he so rarely visited ; 
and thus it did not present a deserted or uncared-for 
appearance, although the general effect of it was a trifle 
gloomy and depressing during the winter months. 

It was on a fine, hot afternoon in one of the finest 
and hottest summers of recent years that I first made 


HIS GRAC&. 


35 


acquaintance with my future place of abode, and it 
certainly struck me that any duke who could not be 
satisfied with such a glorious and beautiful home must 
be an uncommonly hard duke to please. For the vast 
Tudor building, which is pronounced by competent 
judges to be as perfect a specimen of - that order of 
architecture as there is in existence, stands high, 
dominating a boundless expanse of park, where fallow- 
deer and Highland cattle can scarcely be conscious of 
any sense of captivity, and the timber is more magnifi- 
cent than anything that I know of elsewhere, and in 
the month of June the admiring spectator is seldom 
reminded of the proximity of the storm-swept German 
ocean. The number of people who cannot stand 
country-life unless they are supported by the presence 
of a crowd of fellow-creatures is, I know, large and 
increasing ; but personally I am incapable of entering 
into their feelings. I was brought up in the country ; 
I love it and everything belonging to it, be the weather 
fair or foul ; added to which I am not, and never was, 
fitted to shine in society. Consequently, I was by no 
means scared at the prospect of a prolonged period of 
solitude ; nor, when I was shown the very comfortable 
quarters which had been prepared for my reception, 
did I see any reason to regret my stuffy little London 
lodgings. 

There is no occasion to weary the reader with a 
detailed account of the affairs which it was now my 
duty to take in hand or of the obstacles in my path 
which I had to surmount or push aside ; I will only 
say, with regard to those obstacles, that they proved 
far less numerous than I had anticipated, and that 
there was every excuse for the old retainers who at 


3 $ 


HIS G R ACE. 


first showed some disposition to be obstructive. New 
brooms cannot expect to be welcomed; it was, of 
course, probable that the young duke, being so much 
less wealthy than his predecessor, would wish to cut 
down expenses, and a servant who for many years has 
been well paid in return for very little work naturally 
does not relish the idea of dismissal. However, my 
present instructions were to dismiss nobody, and, after 
a long and careful study of the documents submitted 
to me, I was able to arrive at the highly satisfactory 
conclusion that nobody needed to be dismissed. 
Stewards, bailiffs, gamekeepers, and house-servants, 
they were all respectful and civil to me from the out- 
set : as soon as they understood that I did not contem- 
plate any sweeping reforms, they became my very 
good friends, and did what they could to assist me in 
the carrying out of those which I deemed imperative. 
There was, to be sure, rather a superfluity of depend- 
ents ; still, Hurstbourne’s means were ample enough to 
justify him in retaining their services — always suppos- 
ing, that is, that he did not squander his means in 
London or elsewhere. 

“ I do hope, sir,” said the house-steward, a grave, 
gray-headed personage, “that we shall see his Grace 
here before the autumn. I should think, sir, that hiS 
Grace would reside chiefly at Hurstbourne, now that 
Lavenham has gone away from the family.” 

I could give no information as to the new owner’s 
plans, seeing that I did not possess any. “ But Laven- 
ham hasn’t gone away from the family, has it ? ” I 
asked. “ I understood that it had been left to Mr. 
Paul Gascoigne.” 

“ Yes, sir, yes ; the property was left to Mr. Paul,’ 1 


HIS GRACE . 


37 


answered the house-steward, with an air of discreet 
reserve. “I meant that the property had been left 
away from his Grace. I am sorry for it, sir, if I may 
make so bold as to say so. I fear that his Grace’s 
influence in the county may be diminished, and that 
some folks will be inclined to look upon Mr. Paul 
Gascoigne as the head of the family — which he is not, 
sir.” 

From this as well as from other hints which were 
dropped in my presence, I was led to infer that Mr. 
Paul Gascoigne had not won the affections of his late 
uncle’s retainers ; but I asked no questions, not car- 
ing to discuss such delicate matters with those 
amongst whom it was obviously essential to maintain 
a strict standard of discipline. I will say for them 
that they, on their side, abstained from questioning 
me more than they could help, great though their 
curiosity must naturally have been to hear something 
about the young head of the family, upon whom none 
of them had set eyes during his uncle’s lifetime. I 
gave them such information as I could ; I told them that 
he was of a generous disposition, that he was a good 
sportsman, that he had many friends, and, to the best 
of my belief, no enemies. More than that I could not 
tell them, because that was all, or almost all, that I 
myself knew about him. I was not going to mention 
certain misgivings which, as time went on, began to 
trouble me, owing to the accounts which I received 
from him of his expenditure. 

For he did appear to me to be going the pace some- 
what faster than was prudent. No doubt it was neces- 
sary that he should have a London residence, since 
the family mansion in Park Lane had passed into his 


38 


HIS GRACE . 


cousin’s possession, and he may have done well to 
purchase a large house and furniture in Berkeley 
Square which happened to be in the market just then ; 
but I should have been better pleased if he had 
waited a while before treating himself to a five-hun- 
dred-ton steam yacht and a deer-forest in Scotland, 
while his casual intimation that he proposed ere long 
to set up a racing-stable filled me with dismay. It 
was not that there was anything out of the way in a 
man of his income owning such luxuries — or, at all 
events, some of them ; only, his uncle having left him 
literally without one penny in hard cash, I did not see 
how houses and yachts and deer-forests, not to speak 
of racing-studs, were to be paid for without the 
negotiation of a considerable loan. Now, the negotia- 
tion of loans did not come within the scope of my de- 
partment, so that I had to content myself with warn- 
ing him that, so far as I could calculate the cost of his 
present scale of living, his bankers’ book would show 
but a small balance at the end of the year. He replied 
by return of post that that was first-rate. “ Balance in- 
deed ! Who wants a big balance ? ” he asked ; and as 
I read the words I seemed to hear the jolly laugh with 
which they had been written. 

Hurstbourne has a clear, ringing laugh which I would 
defy the most saturnine of mortals to resist. When 
he indulges in it he shuts his eyes and throws back 
his head, displaying a fine double row of white teeth, 
and in another moment everybody within ear-shot 
of him has begun to grin or chuckle. No doubt 
he was at that time doing a great deal towards pro- 
moting the general hilarity in London; for, judging 
by the reports which penetrated to our northern re- 


HIS GRACE . 


39 


gions during that period of jubilee, he was taking part 
in every species of obtainable amusement. Under the 
circumstances, he could not, without obvious hypocrisy, 
have pretended to lament his deceased uncle, and no- 
body, I believe, has ever thought of accusing Hurst- 
bourne of hypocrisy. 

When the London season was at an end, he betook 
himself, as was to be expected, to Goodwood and 
Cowes, and I presumed that he would proceed from 
thence to Scotland. I was, therefore, both pleased 
and surprised when, towards the middle of August, I 
received a notification from him to the effect that he 
was coming home, accompanied by his mother, and 
that he hoped the spare bedrooms were all right, be- 
cause he had asked a lot of people down to stay. The 
spare bedrooms were all right, and indeed everything 
in the house was all right, the late owner having, it 
appeared, been in the habit of allowing carte blanche to 
the housekeeper in the matter of necessary renewals of 
furniture, and having also had the decency to let the 
furniture go with the title ; so that the only thing I had 
to think about was the organizing of a suitable re- 
ception for the new Duke. 

Aided by the steward, the bailiff, and others, I was 
able to arrange this to my satisfaction. The tenantry 
turned out on horseback, triumphal arches were 
erected, a holiday was accorded to the school-children, 
and shortly before the appointed hour I arrived at the 
Lavenham Road station, with an illuminated address 
tucked under my arm, which Mr. Higgins, the senior 
tenant, who was to present it, had entrusted to me, 
explaining that when he mounted his young mare he 
preferred to have the free use of both hands. I was 


40 


HIS GRACE . 


quite astonished to see such a crowd upon the plat 
form, where I became aware of many faces hitherto 
unknown to me, nor could I account for the presence 
of half-a-dozen strange servants attired in the Gas- 
coigne livery ; but when Mr. Higgins, very red in the 
face after his ride, joined me, he cleared up the mys- 
tery, and gave me information as to what he and I 
agreed was a somewhat awkward contretemps. Mr. Paul 
Gascoigne, it seemed, had selected this day of all 
others for taking formal possession of his property ; he 
was coming down in the same train with the Duke ; 
for him also triumphal arches had been set up ; his 
tenantry, like ours, had assembled to welcome him ; 
and the worst of it was that he had a much larger array 
of tenants than his cousin could boast of. 

“ He have done it o’ purpose, sir,” the old man said, 
adding some forcible expressions which, as Mr. Hig- 
gins is a church-warden, I forbear to record. “ His 
nature is to spoil sport, and true to his nature he will 
be, so long as there’s life in the ugly carcase of him, 
you may depend. Now, I ain’t got no quarrel with 
them as is bound to receive him proper, but it do grieve 
me to think that his Grace must drive away from this 
station in a carriage and pair, when that there feller 
has got four horses and postillions waiting for him.” 

We might have had four horses, and I was sorry that 
I had not thought of it ; but there was no time to make 
any alteration in the arrangements, so I stated boldly 
that the Prince of Wales habitually sat behind a pair, 
and that, in these days of macadamized roads, leaders 
were considered as not only useless, but as savoring 
of vulgar ostentation. 

I don’t know whether Mr. Higgins was satisfied, but 


HIS GRACE. 


4 * 


I know that I was not ; and when the train drew up 
beside the platform and Hurstbourne stepped out of 
a saloon carriage, I saw at once by his face that he, 
too, was a little bit annoyed. He was followed by a 
stout lady, whose hair was of that peculiar golden tint 
which has never yet been known to grow naturally 
upon a human scalp, and to whom he introduced me, 
saying : “ You ought to be acquainted with my mother, 
Martyn, for she has been acquainted with you by 
repute for a very long time.” 

She had a good-natured face, and she said a few 
kindly words to me as she shook hands ; but she man- 
ifested quite plainly the vexation which her son was 
making gallant efforts to disguise. 

The next person to emerge from the train was a tall, 
thin, clean-shaven man with an eyeglass, whose iden- 
tity was immediately revealed by the somewhat un- 
called-for haste with which his henchmen pushed for- 
ward to greet him. I could not altogether agree with 
Mr. Higgins that his carcase was an ugly one, although 
I did not much like the look of him. He wore a dep- 
recating and faintly-amused air, as who should say, 
“ I am really very sorry to have put anyone to inconven- 
ience ; but it is no fault of mine. I can’t help it, my 
dear cousin, if I am a bigger man than you, and I can’t 
prevent all these good people from displaying their 
natural affection for me.” 

I believe he actually did say something almost as 
bad as that to Hurstbourne, on taking leave of him, 
after they had received and responded to their respect- 
ive addresses and were moving towards the exit, amidst 
an outburst of cheering which, let us hope, was meant 
to be divided impartially between them. 


42 


HIS GRACE. 


“ 1 must say,” exclaimed Lady Charles, as we seated 
ourselves in the carriage, “ that that man’s impudence 
is past all bearing ! Anybody else would have felt 
ashamed of having schemed to defraud a relation of 
his rights ; but he positively glories in it. Thank 
Heaaven he hasn’t got the title ! — though, I believe, if 
he could see his way to get it by poisoning you without 
risk of detection, he would.” 

“ Oh, come, mother,” said Hurstbourne, laughing, 
“ he isn’t so bad as all that, and I daresay he didn’t 
scheme. But he’s an irritating beggar, I admit, and I 
don’t think it was very pretty of him to come down 
and take the shine out of us in this way.” 

“ We’ll take the shine out of him before we’ve done 
with him,” returned Lady Charles in a resolute voice. 

Lady Charles Gascoigne was a vulgar woman, and 
the vulgarity of her mind was destined to cause me 
much subsequent annoyance, because I did not think 
that the influence which she exercised over Hurst- 
bourne was a salutary one ; but it is mere justice to 
her to own that she was kind-hearted, and that, accord- 
ing to her lights, she had been a good wife and mother. 
The only daughter of a rich Birmingham merchant, she 
had cheerfully acquiesced in the squandering of her 
fortune by her husband, and had as cheerfully sub- 
mitted to privations in order that her son might be 
enabled to associate with his equals. I am sure she 
would have cut off her right hand to serve him ; if she 
did not know how to serve him wisely, perhaps she 
was not to blame for her incapacity. Later in the 
evening, when our stately progress had been accom- 
plished without a hitch, and the tenants had been 
refreshed, and Hurstbourne had addressed them in a 


HIS GRACE . 


43 

neat little speech, she was so good as to take an oppor- 
tunity of morally patting me on the head. 

“ His Grace,” said she (it was one of her provoking 
habits to speak always of her son in that absurd way), 
“ has a great esteem for you, Mr. Martyn, and I do 
feel that we are much indebted to you for all the trouble 
that you have taken. It is such an immense blessing 
in a large establishment like this to have a gentleman 
to whom one can give instructions, and who will see 
that they are properly carried out. His Grace, as 
you know, is by no means as rich as he ought to be ; 
still, he is very desirous of entertaining his visitors in 
a style befitting his rank, and I am sure you will un- 
derstand how vexed he would be if his cousin, who, I 
believe, is going to have a large house-party next 
week, were to outdo him in any way.” 

I certainly did not think that it would be worth his 
Grace’s while to outdo in the matter of splendor a man 
who was notoriously far more wealthy than he ; but I 
only bowed and held my peace. What disquieted me 
more than Lady Charles’s ambition was a remark which 
fell from Hurstbourne himself, while we were sitting 
in the smoking-room after she had gone to bed. 

“ I’ve no quarrel with that fellow Paul,” said he, 
“ and I’m not going to quarrel with him so long as he 
chooses to keep friends ; but I don’t mean him to ride 
rough-shod over me either, and if he tries that on, I 
expect there will be a fight.” 

Now, Hurstbourne was a combative little man, and, 
considering what the respective situations of the rivals 
were, it seemed not unlikely that his combativeness 
might assert itself after a very foolish fashion. 


HIS GRACE . . 


CHAPTER IV. 

A HOUSE-WARMING. 

On the following morning Hurstbourne and I went 
out for a ride together. He said he wanted to have a 
look at his new dominions, and certainly he could not 
have made acquaintance with them under more favor- 
able conditions for a light wind was blowing from the 
eastward, which tempered the heat of the sun, and the 
whole face of Nature wore so smiling and peaceful an 
aspect that we might almost have fancied ourselves as 
many miles south of London as we actually were north 
of that grimy, sweltering city. Our horses, having for 
a long time past done no work beyond their daily walk- 
ing exercise, were fat, and out of condition ; so that 
they gave us no trouble, and we could chat quite com- 
fortably as we jogged across the grass. Hurstbourne, 
with his mouth open, kept on drawing long breaths of 
the salt-laden breeze into his lungs and heaving little 
sighs of contentment. 

“ This is something like ! ” said he. “ This is better 
than Hyde Park, and a very great deal better than 
stifling ballrooms. I wish I could live here all my days, 
like a country gentleman, and perhaps run up to town 
for a couple of months or so in the season.” 


HIS GRACE. 


45 

“ I wish you would,” I replied ; “ and I know no 
earthly reason why you shouldn’t.” 

He shook his head and assured me that there were 
lots of reasons why such a scheme of existence must be 
regarded as impracticable in his case. “ I don’t want 
to be an absolute cipher,” he explained ; “ I don’t think 
a Duke of Hurstbourne ought to be that. My uncle, to 
be sure, lived his own life and didn’t bother himself 
much about politics or society ; but, then, he was so 
beastly rich that it wasn’t possible to disregard him, 
and he knew very well that he could make his power 
felt at any moment, if he chose. It’s rather different 
with me, you see ; I must keep myself pretty promi- 
nently before the eyes of the world or I shall sink into 
downright insignificance.” 

I asserted somewhat hastily that a duke can never 
be an insignificant personage ; but he responded by 
naming one or two wearers of the strawberry-leaves 
to whom I had to admit that the adjective applied, and 
he added that he was not desirous of swelling that in- 
glorious list. “ My mother,” said he, “ saw from the 
first how it would be ; and a sharp fellow like you has 
most likely discovered already that my mother has a 
head upon her shoulders.” 

I had been sharp enough to discover that Lady 
Charles Gascoigne had a singularly foolish head upon 
her shoulders, but naturally I did not hint at anything 
so impolite as that. I merely inquired in what partic- 
ular fashion her ladyship desired that her son should 
render himself prominent. 

“ Oh, not in one way more than in another,” he an- 
swered ; “ only she sees what you yourself must have 
seen yesterday that Paul Gascoigne means to over- 


46 


HIS GRACE. 


shadow me, if he can, and she thinks I should be an 
ass to submit to it. So do I, for the matter of that.” 

Being unable to concur in such sentiments, I held 
my tongue, and he went on to eulogize his mother in 
terms which were half painful, half comical, to a disin- 
terested hearer. He did not stop at declaring her to 
be the cleverest woman of his acquaintance ; as I am a 
sinful man, he proceeded to praise her personal beauty, 
the remarkable youthfulness of her appearance, and her 
unerring good taste ! Often and often have I wondered 
whether Hurstbourne’s filial affection and admiration 
were in reality what they were ostensibly. One knows 
how a man will take you into his stables and defiantly 
forestall criticism by claiming points for his horses 
which are the very points that they lack. “ You im- 
agine,” he seems to say, “ that that animal is not well 
ribbed back, or that the foreleg upon which you have 
fixed your eye shows signs of a splint ; but let me tell 
you that you are utterly and ridiculously mistaken.” 

Perhaps one thinks that he ought to know best ; in 
any case, one refrains from saying what one has been 
going to say. But, upon the whole, I really do believe 
that Hurstbourne was sincere. It is his nature to be 
like that ; his geese are swans ; the people whom he 
loves cannot do wrong, and I am afraid also that the 
few people whom he hates cannot do right. 

It was plain enough that he hated his cousin. He 
did not say so ; but he gave me to understand as much, 
and I gathered that the large and influential assem- 
blage which he was about to entertain was intended to 
be in some sort a slap in the face to the neighboring 
potentate. He furnished me with a list — and a very 
imposing list, it was — of the guests who were to arrive 


HIS GRACE. 


47 


that day and the next. There were two Cabinet 
Ministers among them, and a host of lords and ladies, 
some of whose names were familiar to me, while others, 
as I learnt from him, were stars of the first magnitude 
in that system which revolves round a royal sun. 

“ I’m going to make a sort of house-warming busi- 
ness of it, don’t you know,” said he. “ One is bound 
to have a house-warming, eh ? Anyhow my mother 
thinks so, and her idea is to give a big dinner to the 
neighbors, followed by a ball. She has found out 
that there’s no ballroom at Lavenham ; so we ought to 
score one there.” 

This sounded very feminine, and, whatever Hurst- 
bourne may be, he is not a feminine person ; but who 
doesn’t know the disastrous effects of feminine influence 
upon the best men ? It is, in fact, upon the best of men, 
I think, that such influence proves the most deteriorat- 
ing ; only a downright brute can boast that he is his wife’s 
master. Lady Charles, it is true, was not Hurstbourne’s 
wife ; but he was such a good fellow that a mother was 
almost as bad as a wife to him. So there was evidently 
nothing for it but to engage in this contemptible contest, 
and as soon as we returned to the house I had an 
interview with the housekeeper, who informed me that 
she had already been in consultation with her lady- 
ship. 

Neither then nor at any subsequent time was I 
brought into collision with her ladyship. Her notions 
with regard to entertaining were somewhat magnificent ; 
but then it was quite right, and indeed inevitable, that 
if Hurstbourne was to entertain at all, he should do so 
in a magnificent style. There was money enough to 
meet current expenses, there was plenty of wine in the 


48 


HIS GRACE. 


cellars, and it was not my business- — at any rate for the 
present — to protest against such orders as had been 
given. The exalted personages who proceeded to take 
up their quarters with us were not, I trust, dissatisfied 
with the board and lodging provided for them, nor, 
with such an army of well-trained domestics at com- 
mand, was there any difficulty about making them com- 
fortable. Of course I kept out of their way as much 
as I could. I was only a sort of upper servant, though 
my dear old Hurstbourne was at great pains to explain 
to each and all of them that I was under his roof in 
the character of a tried and valued friend. I don’t for 
for a moment suppose that they believed him ; still 
they were kind enough to refrain from trampling upon 
me, and I had to play lawn-tennis with some of them, 
no sport being obtainable at that time of year for the 
employment of their leisure hours. 

The big dinner proved, all things considered, a big 
success. The lord-lieutenant of the county and the 
other local celebrities, great and small, were present 
at it ; they were charmed, as well they might be, with 
their genial host; they did not seem to be much 
shocked by their genial hostess ; and my only reason 
for speaking in qualified terms of the triumph of the 
feast is that Mr. Paul Gascoigne was one of those who 
sat down to it. I frankly confess that I am unable to 
draw an impartial portrait of Mr. Paul Gascoigne. All 
I can find to say for him is that he is a gentleman of 
unblemished reputation, that he has earned a high 
character for benevolence, and that he is one of those 
wealthy and respectable mediocrities from whom the 
rank and file of British Statesmen are commonly re- 
cruited. He is irrevocably destined to be a Secretary of 


HIS GRACE. 


49 


State one of these fine days. Unfortunately he is one 
of those people — everybody is acquainted with a few 
such — who have always been personally abhorrent to 
me : people whom one cannot greet in the ordinary 
manner without an almost irresistible longing to rub 
one’s hand vulgarly afterwards upon one’s trousers ; 
people to whom one cannot manage to speak civilly, 
although one has no excuse whatsoever for describing 
them as scoundrels. I have said already that he was 
tall, thin, clean-shaven and that he wore an eyeglass ; 
I may add now that he was rather good-looking than 
otherwise, and that he had a clear, not unmelodious 
voice. To what the prompt aversion which I con- 
ceived for him was due I cannot explain, because I 
don’t know. It was not, at all events, due to his air of 
slightly contemptuous patronage nor even to the irritat- 
ing way in which he made himself at home and seized 
opportunities of addressing each of the servants by 
name. 

Hurstbourne Castle had, as a matter of fact, been 
his home for many years, and he was perhaps entitled 
to remind us of the circumstance. However, if I had 
not already hated him in the earlier part of the even- 
ing, I daresay I should have done so when the ladies 
left us after dinner and when he deliberately set to 
work to provoke his cousin. 

“ How are you getting on with the good people here- 
abouts, Arthur,” he inquired, dangling his eyeglass on 
his forefinger and adopting very much the tone which 
a good-natured sixth form boy might adopt in address- 
ing a youngster. “ You’ll find the farmers rather a 
hard-headed lot to deal with ; though my impression 
of them — and of course I know them pretty well — is 
4 


5 ° 


HIS GRACE. 


that their Radicalism is only skin-deep. Still you 
must take them the right way if you want to do any 
good with them.” 

“ I haven’t spoken to them about that sort of thing,” 
answered Hurstbourne ; “ but perhaps, if I had, I 
shouldn’t have tried to convert them from what you 
call Radicalism.” 

“ My dear fellow, you surely don’t mean to say that 
you yourself are a Radical. That would be very 
funny.” 

“ Would it ? Well, I don’t suppose I am so funny as 
that. I have always been a Liberal, like the rest of 
our family,” said Hurstbourne, who, I am sure, had 
never in his life been guilty of holding any political 
opinions whatsoever. 

“ The rest of our family ? Oh, if you mean my uncle, 
I can assure you that he was as good a Tory as I am ; 
although, for the sake of old traditions, he called himself 
a Liberal Unionist. For my own part, I don’t think it 
is over wise or honest to use thin disguises ana that is 
why I proclaim myself openly as being what I am.” 

“ Well, as long as you do that, nobody is likely to 
question your wisdom or your honesty,” remarked 
Hurstbourne, cutting short the harangue upon which 
an elderly statesman who was seated beside him had 
embarked. “ We mustn’t begin to talk politics, or we 
shan’t get out of the room in time to receive the danc- 
ing people. What are you drinking ? ” 

“ Port, thanks. This is the ’47 of course. I was so 
glad to let you have it. I have some of the same vint- 
age at Lavenham ; but, as I always used to tell my uncle, 
it hasn’t matured in "he same way. I only wish it 
had!” 


HIS GRACE. 


5 * 

“ I paid your own price for it, you know, ” Hurst- 
bourne said. 

“Oh yes, you paid me what I asked. One can’t 
really put a price upon such wine as this ; but I felt 
that it would be a positive sin to disturb it.” 

He leant back in his chair and held his glass up to 
the light, closing one eye while he scrutinized its con- 
tents. “Ah I thought so ! ” he sighed ; “ it has been a 
little bit shaken. I remonstrated with Feltham again 
and again about his carelessness in carrying up wine 
but it was no use, and finally I had to make a point of 
doing it myself. The fact is that one can’t trust the 
best butler in the world with these delicate operations. 
You will find Feltham a very good, steady man in 
other respects, though.” 

Hurstbourne, who is too thorough a gentleman to re- 
sent any impertinence on the part of a guest, kept his 
temper admirably. Nevertheless, I have no doubt that 
he longed to kick the fellow ; and so did I. That we 
were not alone in entertaining such sentiments was 
made evident to me by the tightened lips and lowered 
brows of the country gentlemen who formed the ma- 
jority of the assemblage. While we were leaving the 
room, one of these, a spare, gray-bearded individual, 
whom I subsequently discovered to be Colonel Corbin, 
the M. F. H., told me how glad he had been to hear 
that the duke was a hunting as well as a shooting man. 

“ In the old duke’s time,” said he, “ that beggar 
Paul Gascoigne had things all his own way, and the 
consequence was that we never drew these coverts ex- 
cept for form’s sake. I wish to Heaven we hadn’t got 
him at Lavenham ; but it’s something that he doesn’t 
rule the roast hereabouts any more.” 


5 2 


HIS GRACE. 


“ Mr. Gascoigne doesn’t hunt, then ? ” said I inter- 
rogatively. 

“ He ? — Lord bless your soul, no ! he wouldn’t risk 
his precious person in that way. He can shoot, or he 
thinks he can — well, I believe he is a pretty fair shot. 
But he’s no sportsman, as I’ve taken the liberty of tell- 
ing him more than once.” 

From this and from other remarks which were made 
to me during the evening I was led to conclude that 
Mr. Gascoigne enjoyed no greater popularity amongst 
his equals in the county than he did amongst his in- 
feriors. Yet money is power, and if the men, or some 
of them, fought shy of him, the ladies appeared to like 
him very well. I watched him from the retired posi- 
tion which I had taken up in a corner of the ball-room, 
and I saw that the old women welcomed him eagerly, 
while such of the young ones as he was pleased to dance 
with evidently exerted themselves to earn his approval. 
He was, however, a bad dancer, and probably he did 
not care enough about any of the young ladies to ex- 
hibit himself under an unbecoming aspect for their 
benefit. Long before the supper hour he ceased to ad- 
venture himself in the throng and sauntered down the 
long room, pausing every now and again to address a 
few condescending words to this or that person among 
the lookers-on, until he reached the spot where I was 
standing, when he was good enough to lean against the 
wall by my side and enter into conversation. “ Am I 
to compliment you upon this brilliant transformation 
scene, Mr. Martyn?” he inquired. “You are playing 
Mentor to Arthur’s Telemachus, I am told, and cer- 
tainly I can’t imagine that either he or his mother pos- 
sess the decorative skill of which we see so many evi- 


HIS GRACE. 


53 


dences around us. It is difficult to believe that this is 
really the same old Hurstbourne Castle which my uncle 
and I used to regard as the dreariest of our abodes.” 

I said that the credit of having arranged the floral 
display which he admired was due, I believed, to the 
head-gardener, and I added, that my duties were not of 
the nature alluded to. 

“No? That is almost a pity, I think; for if the 
entertaining department is to be confided to Lady 
Charles, I am afraid we shall not always have such cause 
to congratulate ourselves as we have to-night. There 
she is, and we must make the best of her ; but who her 
friends are, and what sort of people she will invite to 
stay in the house, one shrinks from conjecturing. She 
appears to be a worthy kind of woman in her way, 
though. Has she got Arthur completely under her 
thumb, do you think ? ” 

I replied that I really didn’t know, but that a man of 
Hurstbourne’s age is usually assumed to be out of lead- 
ing strings. 

“ Oh, but that is a very unwarrantable assumption,” 
he rejoined, laughing. “ Arthur, I should say, would 
always be in leading-strings, and I was rather in hopes 
that you held them. I suppose he wouldn’t listen to 
good advice from me ; but he stands sorely in need of 
good advice from somebody, I assure you. He is try- 
ing, you see, to make a pint-pot hold a quart, which is 
an experiment that has never yet been crowned with 
success, often as it has been attempted. He may hold 
on for a year or two if he doesn’t bet ; but of course he 
will bet. I am sorry for it — especially as it won’t be 
in my power to help him by buying this estate, which is 
entailed — but, quos jDeus vult perderc ” 


54 


HIS GRACE. 


He shrugged his shoulders and turned away, leav« 
ing me with a firm conviction that he had meant me to 
report those last words of his to Hurstbourne and with 
an equally firm determination that I would do no such 
thing. He would have alarmed me more if his malev- 
olence had not been so obvious ; still, even as it was, 
he did contrive to make me feel uneasy. The deer- 
forest and the yacht and the home entertainments were 
all very well ; but when a man takes to owning race- 
horses and backing them, who can fix any limit to his 
possibilities ? 

My somewhat gloomy meditations were presently in- 
terrupted by the subject of them, who came running 
across the room to ask me what in the world I meant 
by not dancing. “You ought to be ashamed of your- 
self, you lazy beggar ! Come along and be introduced 
to the youth and beauty of the neighborhood.” 

But I was not destined to become acquainted with 
the youth and beauty of the neighborhood that even- 
ing ; for he had not towed me a dozen paces before 
we were intercepted by a servant, who handed me a 
telegram which, he said, had just been brought from 
the station. I knew instinctively that it had come 
from Nora ; I knew what its contents must be, and 
when I tore it open my worst fears were verified. I 
showed it to Hurstbourne, who glanced at the urgent 
summons which it conveyed — “ Come home at once . 
Mother is very ill ” — and who, like the good, kind fel- 
low that he is, wasted no time in uttering common- 
place condolences, but took prompt measures for 
having me sent off to Lavenham Road to catch the 
night mail. 

“ They’ll stop it by signal for you,” said he ; “ one 


HIS GRACE. 


55 


of the grooms shall gallop over in a minute or two to 
tell them. You’ll have plenty of time to pack up what 
things you want — a good half-hour. Good-bye, old 
chap ; let me have a line when you can, and of course 
don’t dream of coming back here until you can leave 
home with a quiet mind. We’re off to Scotland next 
week ; but I hope I shall see you again before very 
long.” 

So we parted ; and as I was being driven rapidly 
across the park in the dog-cart, it seemed to me by no 
means improbable that I had turned my back upon 
Hurstbourne Castle forever. 


56 


HIS GRACE. 


CHAPTER V. 

THE SOLUTION OF A DIFFICULTY. 

It was very good and thoughtful of Hurstbourne to 
have the night mail stopped for me ; but in reality the 
station-master’s complaisance did not save me much 
time ; for I had to go up to London, and, when there, 
I was compelled to wait several hours before the early 
morning train left for Essex. The delay, however, 
was of small consequence, and indeed that was what 
I kept on saying to myself while I paced wearily up 
and down the platform at Liverpool Street. I had 
read between the lines of my sister’s telegram, I had 
guessed that her wish had been to spare me an unne- 
cessary shock, and when, between nine and ten o’clock 
in the morning, I reached my destination at last and 
saw that all the blinds of our poor little cottage were 
drawn down, there was no need for the sobbing inco- 
herence of the housemaid to convince me that all was 
over. 

Nora, who evidently had not taken her clothes off 
all night, came downstairs presently to tell me all about 
it, in a quiet, miserable voice. There was not much 
to tell. — She had been out rather late on the previous 
afternoon, and, on her return, had found our mother 
sitting, as usual, in her arm-chair and apparently asleep. 


HIS GRACE. 


57 


Something about the attitude of the frail little figure 
had alarmed her ; her efforts to restore animation had 
failed ; and then she had sent for the doctor, although 
long before he appeared, there had been no doubt as 
to the nature of his verdict. 

“ I didn’t like to tell you what had happened,” Nora 
said in conclusion, “ because I knew how dreadfully 
you would feel it, and it seemed a pity that you should 
be made unhappy through all that long journey, with 
nobody to speak a word of comfort to you. But you 
must try to take comfort now, Phil ; for her life wasn’t 
a happy one of late, you know, and the doctor says she 
must have died almost painlessly. After all, there are 
many worse things than death.” 

I could quite understand her thinking so, poor child, 
and I was touched, as well I might be, by her ready 
sympathy with my sorrow, which was not and could not 
be, so heavy a one to bear as hers. Nevertheless, the 
loss which had fallen upon us was a deep and bitter 
grief to us both. It is one with which almost every- 
body must of necessity make acquaintance, and, like 
other griefs, it is certain to be cured by lapse of time ; 
yet there cannot be a great many people who have had 
a mother so patient, so indulgent and so self-sacrificing 
as ours had always shown herself to us, nor perhaps 
are there many people to whom the death of a mother 
means all that it meant in our case. Mr. Burgess, who 
looked in in the course of the day, but whom Nora 
declined to see, told me that we had been most merci- 
fully dealt with and ought to feel very thankful. Pos- 
sibly he was right ; yet I didn’t think at the time, and 
don’t think now, that I myself should use such lan- 
guage if I wished to be consolatory. 


HIS GRACE. 


58 

Mr. Burgess was anxious to ascertain my wishes with 
regard to the funeral, and also displayed what struck 
me as a rather premature curiosity as to the disposition 
of my poor mother’s scanty fortune. I answered his 
questions upon the former point ; respecting the latter 
I was unable to give him any immediate information, 
and he went away, after expressing some dissatisfac- 
tion at Nora’s refusal to accord him an interview. He 
said he hoped she was not meeting affliction in a rebel- 
lious spirit, and I replied that, to the best of my belief, 
she was not, but that I could not have her disturbed 
for the present. He did not allude to his engagement, 
nor did I deem it incumbent upon me to make any 
reference to that subject. 

But of course I had to speak to Nora about it.. Not 
until after our mother’s body had been laid in its last 
resting-place, beneath the shadow of the old gray church- 
tower, were plans for the future mooted by either of us ; 
but on the succeeding morning it was plain that we 
must no longer shirk what was almost sure to be a 
painful discussion. By that time we knew the provi- 
sions of the will which Uncle John, who came down 
from London to attend the funeral, informed us had 
been drawn up under his instructions and advice. A 
sum of £1,000 was to be held in trust for Nora, while 
the remainder of the personalty, amounting in all to 
something under .£9,000, was bequeathed to me. 
Uncle John said the arrangement was a fair and usual 
one ; and perhaps it was so, although it had the obvious 
drawback of leaving practically unprovided for, a per- 
son who was not only incapable of providing for her- 
self, but was a great deal too proud to allow her brother 
to provide for her. 


HIS GRACE. 


59 


“ I couldn’t possibly do such a thing, Phil,” was the 
decisive answer which she returned to a certain pro- 
posal of mine. “ Setting aside any personal scruples 
that I might feel about robbing you, it would be down- 
right dishonest to treat our poor, dear old mother’s 
will as if it didn’t exist. She knew very well what she 
was doing when she made it, and she was certainly 
right. With the little that she had to dispose of, forty 
or fifty pounds a year was the utmost that she could 
be expected to leave to a married daughter.” 

“ Only you are not a married daughter,” I ob- 
served. 

“ Well, I shall be before long ; there is nothing to 
prevent me from fulfilling my engagement now.” 

I did not think it desirable to dispute that assertion 
at the moment : but I pointed out that the wedding 
could hardly take place next week or even next month. 
“ And what is to become of you in the meantime ? ” I 
inquired. 

That was not a very easy question to answer, nor 
could Nora’s declaration, that she would manage some- 
how and that I wasn’t to bother myself, be regarded as 
disposing of it. However, Mr. Burgess, when he turned 
up soon after luncheon with a little pile of devotional 
works under his arm, prepared with a solution of the 
difficulty which he was so kind as to submit to our ap- 
proval. Having heard his elephantine tread upon the 
gravel, and having caught a glimpse of him before he 
rang the door-bell, I retired hurriedly into the garden 
to smoke. He was entitled to claim the privilege of a 
private interview with his fiande , and if he had any- 
thing to say to me, I presume she would let him know 
where to find me. 


6o 


HIS GRACE. 


Well, I was tolerably sure that he would have some- 
thing to say to me ; so that I was not surprised when, 
at the expiration of half an hour or thereabouts, he 
came pacing across the grass in order to say it. Nor, 
as far as that goes, was I greatly surprised at the 
somewhat aggrieved tone in which his remarks were 
delivered. He had not anticipated, (so I forced him to 
admit in plain terms, after a lengthy and circuitous 
preamble,) that my sister would be left with so meagre 
a dowry. He himself was not a rich man ; he had his 
children to consider ; and — in short, he must confess 
that his dear friend Mrs. Martyn’s testament appeared 
to have been framed without due regard to the circum- 
stances of the case. 

“ I am sorry for that,” answered I briskly ; “ but of 
course you won’t expect me to agree with you. As for 
your engagement to my sister, which I tell you frankly 
that I don’t consider by any means a good bargain for 
her, you have only to say the word and it shall be off.” 

He threw up his great hands and closed his eyes in 
shocked deprecation of my brutality. Not by him, he 
solemnly affirmed, should a promise, once given, ever 
be revoked ; I little knew him if I imagined that he was 
one who coveted riches or who would be willing to 
sacrifice the happiness of others to his own comfort. 
Nevertheless, he could not but feel that, if he had a 
sister situated as my sister was 

“Yes, I am quite sure you would,” I interrupted, 
anticipating the generous course which he would adopt 
in such an event ; “ but you see, Mr. Burgess, I have no 
pretension to resemble you in any way, and I am not a 
bit inclined to pauperize myself in order that my sister 
may become the stepmother of your children. I only 


HIS GRACE. 


6l 


want to know what your intentions are ; so that I may 
make our arrangements fit in with them.” 

He looked pained, but disclaimed any intention of 
jibbing — which was rather a disappointment to me. For 
reasons the cogency of which he said he had no doubt 
that I should appreciate, he could not propose an im- 
mediate celebration of his second nuptials. Advent 
would be upon us before Nora could decently lay aside 
her crape, Christmas was always a busy and anxious 
season, Lent would fall early next year ; upon the whole, 
he did not see how he could reconcile it with his duties 
and obligations to be married until after Easter. He 
added that he had talked the matter over with dear 
Nora, who was quite of one mind with him about it. 
Then he brought forward the proposition to which I 
alluded just now. It was that Nora should be de- 
spatched to a certain Home by the sea-side that he knew 
of, where she would be well cared for by the Sisters and 
would be provided with work, in consideration of which 
no charge would be made for her keep. He said he 
was convinced that such a period of calm seclusion and 
well-doing would contribute to her spiritual as well as 
her temporal advantage. 

I thanked him very much and undertook to give his 
plan full consideration. I also promised (for indeed 
I was extremely anxious to get rid of him), that I would 
consider the earnest and affectionate counsels which 
he felt it right to urge upon me with regard to my per- 
sonal inheritance. Ought I to profit by what he feared 
he must call an unjust display of maternal tenderness ? 
Ought I to consult my own ease rather than that of a 
helpless girl whose natural protector I was ? These 
were questions, which, he said, he would leave to be 


62 


HIS GRACE. 


decided in obedience to the dictates of my conscience, 
and I replied that he might safely do so. 

It is, I hope, needless to say that I no more intended 
my sister to enter that Home than I intended her to 
espouse our saintly pastor ; but my half-formed res- 
olution was to some extent modified when I re-entered 
the house, where I found Lady Deverell seated with 
Nora, and was informed of an alternative project to 
which I felt bound to agree, although I own that I did 
so with some reluctance. 

“ It is all settled,” Lady Deverell told me in benevo- 
lent, authoritative accents ; “ Nora is to come to me 
at Fern Hill as soon as you leave and to stay with me 
until she marries. I shall be very pleased to have 
her, and I think I can answer for it that Mr. Burgess 
will approve of her remaining in the parish. Mr. 
Burgess is so good and so disinterested a man that he 
will be sure to be pleased with what pleases her, so 
long as that does not conflict with his strong sense of 
duty.” 

What could I say ? It was certainly kind of Lady 
Deverell to give such an invitation ; Nora was evidently 
eager to accept it, and some little time must in all 
probability elapse before I could offer my sister the 
shelter of a roof of my own. I endeavored, therefore, 
to appear grateful and gracious ; but I believe I have 
already mentioned that I am a clumsy creature, and 
perhaps my inability to swallow down the bread of 
charity without making a wry face over it was not con- 
cealed from our patroness. At all events, she did not 
make me look more pleasant (but possibly it was not 
her wish to do that), by saying she had heard upon 
trustworthy authority that the Duke of Hurstbourne 


HIS GRACE. 


63 


was leading “ a profligate life ” and hoping that I 
should ere long sever my connection with one whose 
example could not but be injurious to me. 

I replied that the risk of contagion was compara- 
tively slight, seeing that the greater part of his time 
had been spent and was likely to be spent away from 
Hurstbourne Castle ; after which I effected a change of 
subject. I could not quarrel with the woman whose 
helping hand I had just taken on my sister’s behalf, 
nor could I very well help quarrelling with her if I 
allowed her to calumniate my friend any farther. 

I had, however, made up my mind, on other grounds 
than those so charitably urged by Lady Deverell, that 
I must resign the post which I held at Hurstbourne 
Castle. What my future occupation was to be I hardly 
knew (I am afraid I must confess that I had some 
thought of earning a living by my pen) ; but my first duty 
clearly was to secure a humble home in London and re- 
move Nora to it. She could not refuse to keep house for 
me even though she would not hear of putting her fingers 
into my purse. Nevertheless, she would, I knew, have 
refused to let me give up my present employment on 
her account, and for that reason I refrained from 
telling her what I proposed to do. 

A few days later we parted. We had only been 
yearly tenants of our cottage, for which a new occupant 
was found without difficulty ; the furniture was to be 
sold by auction, and such of our belongings as we had 
been unwilling to relinquish had, by Lady Deverell’s 
permission, been transported to the lumber-room at 
Fern Hill. 

“ I suppose the next time I shall see you will be 
on my wedding day, Phil,” Nora said rather wistfully 


64 


HIS GRACE . 


when I took leave of her. To which I replied that 
there was a very fair chance of our meeting again be- 
fore that auspicious date. 

I did not want to have a scene — like the majority of 
male Anglo-Saxons, I prefer letting people divine my 
sentiments to expressing them — but I did feel that I 
was a horrid brute, as I drove towards the station and 
realized how completely my poor Nora must be con- 
vinced that I had abandoned her. I went straight to 
Hurstbourne Castle, where I had some matters of bus- 
iness to attend to ; thence I telegraphed to Glendwinish 
Lodge, which was the name of Hurstbourne’s newly- 
acquired Highland residence, to ask whether he could 
put me up for a night, as I was anxious to confer with 
him ; and, on receiving an affirmative reply, I pro- 
ceeded northwards. 

On reaching my destination, I found a rather large 
party assembled in a house of moderate dimensions, for 
it appeared that there were grouse as well as red-deer 
upon the Glendwinish estate, and when I heard the names 
of some of the noblemen and gentlemen who were par- 
taking of my patron’s hospitality I perceived that the 
prospects of sport held out to them must have been of no 
mean order. The natural inference was that the price 
demanded for such a property must have been a heavy 
one ; but that, as I reflected with a sigh, was a point 
as to which I had no longer any right to feel anxiety. 
The men were tired after a long day’s shooting, and most 
of them went to sleep even before they went to bed ; 
Lady Charles, who was the sole representative of her 
sex, disappeared immediately after dinner ; so that the 
evening was not far advanced when Hurstbourne, who 
had clad himself in a gorgeous smoking-suit, was able to 


HIS GRACE. 


65 


lead me into a small room on the ground-floor where, he 
said, we could talk without any fear of being inter- 
rupted. He handed me a cigar, pushed me into an 
arm-chair and began : 

“ Now, I know very well what has brought you here, 
old chap. I’ve been outrunning the constable, and 
you’ve come all this way to lecture me, isn’t that it ? 
Well, now you’re here, you’ll have to stop and help us 
to bring the grouse. down, that’s all. Of course I’ve 
parted with a good lump of money ; but it’s the first 
start that comes so expensive, don’t you see ? Don’t 
you fret yourself; by this time next year I shall be 
quite a capitalist. That is, if I have any sort of luck.” 

I explained that, although his method of converting 
himself into a capitalist did not strike me as a partic- 
ularly promising one, it was not on that account that I 
had made so bold as to invite myself to Glendwinish. 
I had already informed him by letter of my mother’s 
death ; I now thought it best to tell him quite candidly 
how I was circumstanced. I narrated the whole story 
of Nora’s engagement to Mr. Burgess and Lady Dever- 
ell’s proffered hospitality, concluding by saying that I 
was sure he would understand how necessary it was that 
I should hand in my resignation, now that it had be- 
come imperative upon me to take my sister under my 
wing. 

“ My dear fellow,” he returned unhesitatingly, “ there 
isn’t the slightest necessity in the world for you to 
resign your functions unless you want to resign them. 
I quite agree with you that you will have to get your 
sister away from that old tabby and her pet parson ; 
but what is to prevent her from joining you at Hurst- 
bourne ? Surely the house is large enough to hold two 
5 


66 


HIS GRACE . 


of you ; and for about three quarters of the year you’ll 
have it to yourselves. I tell you plainly, Martyn, that 
I shall think it deuced unfriendly of you if you leave 
me in the lurch like this at a moment’s warning, and 
you will hardly be such an old humbug as to pretend 
that I shall lay you under any obligation by offer- 
ing your sister house-room. You know as well as any- 
body that the amount of food which a young lady is 
likely to consume won’t make a perceptible difference 
in the cost of keeping up the establishment.” 

That, of course, was a statement which could not 
be controverted ; but I pointed out to him that the 
extent of an obligation is not always to be measured 
by the standard of pounds, shillings and pence, and 
sincerely though I was touched by his kindness, I felt 
compelled to decline it. He argued with me for the 
best part of an hour, and I had some ado to resist 
appeals the force of which I could not help inwardly 
acknowledging. However, I did resist them, and at 
length he jumped up suddenly and made for the door, 
halting upon the threshold to say, “ Stay where you are ; 
I’ll be with you again in half a second.” 

He did not return quite so soon as that ; but I don’t 
think more than twenty minutes had elapsed before 
he re-entered the room, dragging after him a lady who 
appeared to have arrayed herself somewhat hurriedly 
in a lace-bordered dressing-gown and whose golden 
locks were piled on to the top of her head after a fashi 
ion which displayed the silver undergrowth only too 
plainly to the amazed beholder. 

“ Don’t look at me, Mr. Martyn ! ” exclaimed Lady 
Charles, who, like the good-natured soul that she was, 
was evidently almost as much tickled as vexed at be- 


HIS GRACE. 


67 


ing exhibited in such a plight ; “ it’s all Arthur’s fault. 
He has taken it into his head that, if we can’t persuade 
you to do as we wish to-night, you will be off the first 
thing in the morning, and he thinks I can persuade you, 
though he can’t.” 

She came and laid her hand on my shoulder, adding, 
‘ Now, my dear, good man, you mustn’t be so stupid 
and obstinate about it : what do you know about girls 
and their requirements ? At any rate, you do know 
what our requirements are, and you may take my word 
for it that your sister will be happier as well as more 
welcome under our roof than she would be with that 
sanctimonious old Lady Deverell. She shall be free to 
do exactly as you and she please ; but if you like to let 
me chaperon her I will, and I really am a perfectly 
respectable woman, though I know I don’t look like 
one at the present moment.” 

She was so kind, so natural and so obviously sincere, 
(she did not even remember to call Hurstbourne his 
Grace), that I ended by yielding to her solicitations. 
I don’t know whether I was right or wrong ; I often 
thought afterwards that I had been very wrong indeed ; 
but, hypocritical as it may sound to say so, I did hon- 
estly believe at the time that I should be doing these 
good people a service by remaining with them, while it 
is needless to add that the service which they proposed 
to render to Nora was, in my view, an almost incalcu- 
lable one. 


HIS GRACE . 


68 


CHAPTER VI. 

NORA SCORES A SUCCESS. 

Notwithstanding Hurstbourne’s kindly entreaties, I 
set my face south on the following day without having 
exterminated a single grouse. I was eager — perhaps 
too eager — to remove my sister from the neighborhood 
of Mr. Burgess, and I wanted to lose no time in impart- 
ing to her what I hoped she would regard as good news. 
From subsequent avowals which I had received from 
her I am led to believe that she did so regard it ; but 
at the time she disappointed me a good deal by raising 
a cloud of difficulties ; so that quite a lengthy corre- 
spondence took place between us before the last of her 
scruples was overcome. It is true that both she and I 
had to reckon with Lady Deverell, who was strongly, 
not to say bitterly, opposed to our scheme, and who 
wrote to me upon the subject in very forcible terms. 

“ I do not expect gratitude,” she declared, in one of 
her epistles ; “ I do not expect my personal wishes to 
have any weight with one whom I have done my best 
to befriend ; but I do expect that young people who 
have been brought up as you and Nora have been 
should have some slight sense of reason and propriety. 
To accept hospitality from me is one thing ; to accept 


HIS GRACE . 


69 


it from such a woman as Lady Charles Gascoigne, who, 
even if her position in society were what it is not and 
never can be , would still be a total stranger to you and 
your family, is quite another. Of the Duke of Hurst- 
bourne I will only say that he is a very young man and, 
by all accounts, a very dissipated and irreligious young 
man. Whether it is expedient that your sister should 
become a member of his household I must leave it to 
your conscience and your common sense to decide. 
You and she are free agents ; you can manage your 
affairs as may seem best to you ; but upon you must 
fall the responsibility of having placed your sister (if 
you should so determine) in a thoroughly false posi- 
tion.” 

Most people, I daresay, will think that, if Lady 
Deverell did not express herself over and above cour- 
teously, she nevertheless had reason on her side ; but 
I confess that to me her discourtesy was more apparent 
than her reasonableness. It was absurd to say that 
Nora was about to become a member of Hurstbourne’s 
household ; it was certainly false to speak of him as 
dissipated and irreligious ; while, as for Lady Charles, 
I really could not see what her social status had to do 
with either of us. Therefore I gave Lady Deverell to 
understand that her views were not mine, and hinted, 
with all necessary politeness and circumlocution, that 
I proposed to undertake the conduct of my own busi- 
ness. Mr. Burgess, so far as I could gather, took no 
active part in the discussion. Rightly or wrongly, I 
imagined that Mr. Burgess was a good deal less keen 
about his second marriage than he had been before the 
provisions of my mother’s will had been made known 
to him. 


7 o 


HIS GRACE. 


However that may be, the upshot of it all was that 
Nora and her modest belongings were deposited at 
Lavenham Road Station one fine evening and that she 
was able to bring with her an assurance of the consent, 
if not precisely the approval, of her betrothed. I 
should have been just as well pleased had she been 
provided with neither the one nor the other ; but when 
I said something to that effect, she implored me, as a 
personal favor, to abstain from such remarks for the 
future. 

“ It is all settled,” she declared, “ and my having left 
Essex doesn’t alter anything. Lady Deverell chooses 
to make out that my having come to you is a sort of 
preliminary to jilting Mr. Burgess ; but he doesn’t 
think so, and of course it isn’t so. No actual date has 
been fixed ; but I suppose, if I have another six months 
of spinsterhood before me, it’s about as much as I 
have. Let us enjoy those six months together as much 
as we can, Phil. I’m afraid we shan’t enjoy them at 
all unless we can agree to put other people out of sight 
and out of mind.” 

It was doubtless impossible for either of us to carry 
out that compact to the letter ; but it was both possible 
and agreeable to avoid all mention of Mr. Burgess’s 
name, and I need scarcely say that I, for my part, had 
no sort of wish to mention the man. As for our en- 
joying ourselves together, I can answer for it that that 
part of the programme was faithfully executed by one 
of us, and I think I may add it was by the other also. 

We had, in fact, everything to make us happy. We 
had liberty, which, I take it, is almost the chief of 
earthly blessings ; we had all the small luxuries be- 
longing to wealth, which are not to be despised ; we 


BIS GRACE. 


7 


had horses to ride (for Hurstbourne, doubting my 
willingness to make myself at home, had despatched 
special instructions to the stud-groom upon the sub- 
ject), and we had congenial society. By that I mean 
that we had each other’s society ; but we were likewise 
favored by the friendly visits and invitations of the 
neighbors, who showed us much kindness and did not 
seem to think there was anything extraordinary in the 
circumstance of my sister’s being domiciled in the 
Castle with me, though I have since been assured that 
they must have thought it very odd indeed. If so, I 
can only say that they disguised their sentiments with 
singular skill and success. 

It is, I should think, most unlikely that I shall ever 
again be as happy and as free from care as I was that 
autumn, when I ought by rights to have been full of 
care and anxiety about the future. It was then that I 
composed the greater part of those poetical works to 
which I have made allusion above, and I was not 
ashamed to read them to my companion, who, on her 
side, affirmed without a blush that they were more 
spirited and stirring than any compositions of the kind 
that had previously come under her notice. Idiotic 
as it may have been of me to swallow even a grain of 
such flattery, I did swallow it and liked it ; but I can 
honestly say that I did not derive half as much pleasure 
from that as I did from the daily evidences of return- 
ing gayety and good spirits with which Nora gladdened 
my heart. I remember her saying to me, as we rode 
homewards one evening, while the sun was sinking in 
the west behind a gorgeous bank of ruddy and golden 
clouds, that she now knew for the first time in her life 
what it was to be absolutely contented. 


7 2 


HIS GRACE. 


“ If only we could go on like this — just you and I 
together, Phil — until we died, how glorious it would 
be ? ” she exclaimed. Then she sighed and added : 

“ However, since we can’t, and since it is always as • 
well to have something reasonable to hope for, let us 
hope that the Duke of Hurstbourne won’t take it into 
his head to come here and disturb us this winter.” 

As far as I could see, there was no likelihood of our 
being interfered with in the way of which she spoke. 
Hurstbourne had gone from Scotland to Newmarket, 
and in his last letter he talked of spending the winter 
months at Melton. Wherever he went, he took his 
mother with him — which would, no doubt, have been a 
good thing, had Lady Charles been a different sort of 
woman. As it was, one could only admire his filial 
devotion and trust that her ladyship might show herself 
in some degree worthy thereof. It certainly did not 
occur to me that the death of Colonel Home, one of 
the county members, would affect any alterations in 
Hurstbourne’s plans ; yet it seemed that I had under- 
estimated my friend’s interest in the contemporary 
politics, for one morning in December I received the 
following telegram from him : 

“ Must be home for election. Arrive to-morrow even- 
ing. Only self and mother for a few days.” 

The wording of the above missive was, it will be 
perceived, somewhat ambiguous. Did he mean that 
he and his mother were only coming for a few days or 
that other people would join them after a few days ? 
Nora, being of a sanguine temperament, inclined to the 
former belief ; my own impression was in favor of the 


HIS GRACE. 


73 


latter, inasmuch as, after all, the nomination-day had 
not yet been fixed, nor did we even know whether the 
seat was to be contested or not. It turned out that I 
was right. Hurstbourne had abandoned all present 
idea of hunting (a sacrifice made easier for him by the 
prevalence of north-east winds and hard frost), in order 
that he might bring that influence to bear upon the 
coming election from which, I believe, peers of the 
realm are supposed to abstain ; and he had invited vari- 
ous eloquent and celebrated personages to come down 
and assist him. 

However, it was not until some hours after we had 
had the privilege of welcoming him and his mother that 
he alluded to the cause of their sudden descent upon 
us. They were both of them as kind as possible ; they 
took Nora’s presence quite as a matter of course, mak- 
ing no fuss about it and treating her not so much like 
a guest as like one of the family. I had known before- 
hand that Lady Charles would be kind, only I had 
feared she would be rather patronizing ; but she was 
not in the least so, and she had not been a quarter of 
an hour in the house before I saw, to my great satis- 
faction, that she and my sister were going to be friends ; 
I don’t think she ever thoroughly liked me — probably 
she was a little jealous of my power over her son — but 
she took a fancy to Nora from the first, and she could 
not have been more considerate and thoughtful and 
natural with the girl if she had been as well-bred as she 
was, unhappily, vulgar. 

As for Hurstbourne, never yet have I met the man 
or woman with whom he was incapable of becoming 
intimate at a moment’s notice. Long before dinner was 
over Nora and he were like brother and sister ; they had 


74 


HIS GRACE . 


discussed every horse in the stables, had differed as to 
the merits of the animals, had backed their respective 
opinions, and had agreed to bring matters to a decisive 
issue on the first open day. When Nora wished me 
good-night, she whispered to me : 

“ Your Duke is as delightful as if his name were 
Brown, Jones, or Robinson and he had just come home 
from school for the holidays. I don’t want him to stay 
too long ; but I think we may manage to put up with 
him for a week, or even a fortnight.” 

In the smoking-room I learnt that our host was 
likely to remain with us for at least that length of time. 
He was determined, he informed me, that no effort on 
his part should be wanting to secure the return of Mr. 
Somers, the Liberal-Unionist candidate. 

“ And of course it’s a most unfair and disgraceful 
thing that a Tory should come forward to stand 
against him. Everybody says so. Don’t you think so 
yourself ? ” 

I confessed to that absence of prejudice which be- 
longs to total ignorance. “ I thought,” said I, “ it was 
understood that Unionists were not to be disturbed. 
Who is this malignant Tory, and what does he mean 
by breaking away from the allegiance which he owes 
to the wire-pullers ? ” 

“ Good gracious me ! don’t you know who he is ? 
Why, Paul Gascoigne, of course ! I hear that his own 
people have begged him to retire ; but he won’t. He 
has the cheek to swear that the constituency is Con- 
servative — though everybody knows that it has re- 
turned Whigs to Parliament from time immemorial — 
and that the late man only got in because he had 
pledged himself to support the Government. He pre- 


HIS GRACE. 


75 


tends that Somers, who has owned to holding rather 
Radical views upon certain questions, can’t be trusted ; 
and the worst of it is that he has immense local in- 
fluence. We shall have a hard fight for it, as far as I 
can make out ; but I believe we shall win.” 

He evidently enjoyed the prospect of a fight with his 
cousin, whatever might be the result of it, and I am 
afraid my sage advice that he should temper zeal with 
discretion was altogether thrown away upon him. 

“ Don’t be alarmed, old man,” said he, laughing ; “ I 
won’t bring myself within reach of the arm of the law. 
But I’m not going to conceal my opinions, and I be- 
lieve I’m entitled to let Somers have the use of my 
carriages on the polling-day. Meanwhile, if only this 
beastly frost will give, you and I will have a day or two 
with these hounds, and we’ll take Miss Nora out with 
us. I’m awfully glad she rides : I like a girl who can 
ride, don’t you ? ” 

The fates ordained that Nora should be denied arry 
opportunity of showing how deserving she was of Hurst- 
bourne’s regard in that respect ; for the frost, far from 
giving, increased in intensity ; so that on the following 
day it became plain that there was nothing to be done 
but to send post-haste to the neighboring town for a 
supply of skates. 

The park at Hurstbourne Castle boasts of a large 
sheet of ornamental water, which in hard weather has 
always been thrown open to the skating public ; so that 
when we betook ourselves thither, we found quite a 
numerous concourse of people disporting themselves 
upon the ice, and received a warm greeting from many 
of them. The young Duke, I soon saw, was going to 
be popular — it is not very difficult to be popular when 


7 6 


HIS GRACE. 


one is a young duke — he speedily found favor in the 
eyes of such members of the assemblage as he had not 
been previously acquainted with, and if he was not a par- 
ticularly brilliant performer on skates, he was at all 
events a very plucky and good-humored one. Nora 
and I, having been born and bred in a cold country, 
were tolerably proficient in the art of cutting figures, 
and it was to Nora’s tuition that he was pleased to 
submit himself. She managed to make him go through 
some remarkable evolutions ; she chaffed him without 
mercy ; he did not appear to mind being chaffed (for 
indeed there never lived a more unaffected or unpre- 
tending creature than he), and, seeing that they were 
getting on so well together, I thought I would leave 
them and join Lady Charles, who, enveloped in furs, was 
stamping up and down the bank to keep herself 
warm. 

Lady Charles began at once to talk about Nora, of 
whom she spoke in language which I suppose I may 
be excused for calling appreciative. After all, I don’t 
know why the fact that Nora is my sister should debar 
me from recognizing and proclaiming her fascinations 
— especially as I bear no sort of personal resemblance 
to her. 

“ She is a perfectly charming girl,” Lady Charles de- 
clared — “ pretty without being self-conscious, and clever 
without always struggling to say smart things, as most 
of them do. It shall be no fault of mine if she isn’t 
provided with an excellent husband by this time next 
year. You really must confide her to me when we go 
up to London next spring. I daresay you won’t care 
to come to town yourself ; besides, you have your avo- 


HIS GRACE. 


77 

cations here, which his Grace tells you are discharg 
ing admirably.” 

I said I was very glad to hear I had so far given 
satisfaction, and I did not think it my duty to say any- 
thing about the Reverend George Burgess M. A. 

“But isn’t it rather difficult to find an excellent 
husband for a dowerless young woman, however pretty 
and clever she may be ? ” I inquired. 

Lady Charles shook her head. “ Not half so diffi- 
cult as you suppose,” she replied ; “ not half so diffi- 
cult as it is to find a suitable wife for a young man of 
the highest station, who has every bodily and mental 
advantage. You see, Mr. Martyn, it is essential that 
the Duke of Hurstbourne should marry a girl of high 
rank, and it is also most desirable that he should marry 
an heiress. The unlucky thing is that I can’t at the 
present moment lay my finger upon a single lady of 
high rank who has a fortune of her own or is even 
likely to inherit one, and you may imagine how anxious 
this makes me ; for I need scarcely tell you that his 
Grace has been run after in the most open and bare- 
faced manner ever since he succeeded to the title.” 

I suggested that, under those distressing circum- 
stances, it might be well to accept a compromise. Per- 
haps rank without wealth or wealth without rank might 
be put up with. 

She shrugged her shoulders. “ Well, if it comes to 
that, I am afraid we shall have to pocket our pride and 
take the money,” she replied. “ His Grace was most 
unfortunate at Newmarket — I daresay he has told you 
about it — and he has had other heavy losses and un- 
avoidable expenses. Oh, yes ; there is no doubt that 
money is more necessary for us than rank. To be 


7 « 


ms GRACE. 


sure, we already have the one, and it seems we haven’t 
a superfluity of the other.” 

Hurstbourne had not mentioned his losses at New- 
market to me ; but that he had had other heavy ex- 
penses, unavoidable or otherwise, I had been made un- 
pleasantly aware that same morning, and this foolish 
lady’s casual revelations disquieted me not a little. 
He might, I presumed, count upon ridding himself of 
his difficulties by espousing some rich woman ; but it 
seemed a pity that he should be driven to have recourse 
to such expedients. 

Meanwhile, it was evident that the thought of his 
embarrassments did not weigh heavily upon him. He 
approached us after a time, grinningfrom ear to ear and 
swearing that he wasn’t going to stand this kind of 
thing any longer. 

Just you wait a bit,” said he, turning round, as he 
took off his skates, to shake his finger at Nora, who 
was executing graceful pirouettes behind him. “ I owe 
you one for holding me up to public obloquy and ridi- 
cule, and the very first day that we get a thaw I’ll re- 
member to pay my debts. I never said I could skate ; 
but you have committed yourself to the assertion that 
you can ride, and if you don’t go straight, you shall 
hear of it, I promise you ! ” 

“ Don’t lose your temper just when you are begin- 
ning to get on so well,” returned Nora composedly. 
“ If you ride as recklessly as you skate, you will be all 
right, because, you know, you haven’t a single horse in 
your stables who really requires to be ridden.” 

They wrangled all the way home, and only made 
friends upon the doorstep, when Hurstbourne re- 
marked, with a sigh, that he supposed we might as well 


HIS GRACE. 


79 


give up attempting to be jolly together any longer, as 
a lot of solemn old “ cockalorums,” would be arriving 
before dinner-time. 

These Honorable and Right Honorable gentlemen 
appeared in due course, primed with the speeches 
whereby they hoped to arouse the sluggish consciences 
of wavering electors, and I am bound to say that their 
conversation was extremely tedious. I am no politi- 
cian : so that I can speak with true impartiality of 
those politicians with whom I have been brought into 
contact, and if I am wrong in my impression that a 
theoretical Liberal is the most wearisome and uncon- 
vincing of created beings, I am willing to admit a<nd 
apologize for my error : but if anybody ever persuades 
me to humiliate myself in that way, I am quite sure 
that it will not be Hurstbourne, whose gallant efforts 
to swallow his yawns during the harangues to which 
we were treated before his guests retired for the night 
were piteous to behold. 

“ It’s all very fine to be a magnate of the first 
water,” he said to me confidentially, while we were smok- 
ing a last cigar together in peace : “ but there are 
drawbacks, you know — most confounded drawbacks ! 
These talking beggars whom it is one’s duty to listen 
to respectfully are one of them ; but, between you and 
me, the people who think they would like to be duch- 
esses are another. I’m not such a very desirable 
duke, as dukes go ; but I can tell you that, if I hadn’t 
my mother to protect me, I should find myself engaged 
to somebody or other before I knew where I was.” 

“ Your mother,” I replied “ will undoubtedly engage 
you to somebody before you know where you are ; you 


8o 


HIS GRACE . 


had better make up your mind to that. However, her 
choice is certain to be a wise one ; and after she has 
disposed of you, she means to take Nora in hand. She 
was telling me so while you were skating, and she most 
kindly offered to chaperon a humble nobody through the 
next London season.” 

Hurstbourne is the most hospitable of mankind ; yet 
he did not second his mother’s invitation with the 
alacrity which I should have expected of him. On the 
contrary, he frowned and looked quite annoyed. 

‘‘Oh, I don’t think that would be a good plan,” 
said he. “ Of course you are the best judge of the sort 
of life that you would wish your sister to lead ; but I 
must say that, if I had a sister, I wouldn’t throw her 
among those London women unless I was obliged. 
You don’t know what they are — I doubt whether any 
fellow can know without being a duke or a very rich 
man.” 

He proceeded to tell me what they were, supporting 
his assertions by sundry anecdotes which, I own, sur- 
prised me, and wound up by declaring emphatically that 
it would be a downright sin to launch an innocent, sim- 
ple girl like my sister upon such turbid waters. 

“What in the world do you think that she would 
gain by it ? ” he inquired. “ Do you imagine that she 
would come out of it any better or happier than she is ? 
Do you imagine that she would learn anything more 
than she already knows, except a few things which you 
can’t wish her to know ? ” 

Well, I supposed that she might gain what they all 
hope to gain ; that is to say, a husband. But I refrained 
from putting the case so coarsely to this young moralist, 
and after all, it was a great deal more likely than 


HIS GRACE. 


not that Lady Charles Gascoigne would forget her 
promise. I changed the subject by asking him how 
much money he had dropped over the autumn handi- 
caps ; whereupon he promptly discovered that it was 
high time to go to bed. 


6 


82 


HIS GRACE. 


CHAPTER VII. 

FIRST BLOOD. 

The influential politicians had quite a gay time of it 
with us. They had, of course, to show themselves at 
meetings and, I suppose, to prepare their speeches 
in advance, and the work of canvassing was carried on 
briskly ; so that not much leisure was left to them for 
disporting themselves upon the ice. But there were 
dinner-parties for them every evening, and as these were 
attended by a certain number of young people, they 
were followed by dancing, to the strains of sundry 
musicians whose services had been secured from the 
neighboring town. Hurstbourne danced a great deal 
with Nora. Whether he exhorted her to reserve her 
saltatory skill for provincial festivities, instead of exhib- 
iting it in the limited space afforded by London ball- 
rooms, I do not know ; but I imagine that he must 
have given her the benefit of some quasi-fraternal ad- 
vice; for she spontaneously informed me, one day, 
that she had no ambition to make the acquaintance of 
great ladies. 

“ Lady Charles,” she remarked, “ couldn’t be accused 
by anybody of being a great lady. She is a dear old 
woman, and she means to be very kind, and she natu- 


HIS GRACE. 


83 


rally fancies that I must long for the sort of society in 
which she herself delights. But I shouldn’t really care 
about it, even if I had been born a member of it, and I 
think you and I will spend the London season here all 
by ourselves, Phil. That is, unless — unless I have to 
leave you before it begins.” 

I made some discreet observation to the effect that 
she could not be compelled to leave me any sooner 
than she felt inclined. I did not want to talk about 
Mr. Burgess, whom I hoped to get rid of by a gentle 
and gradual process of retreat, and I was by no means 
sure that I did not want Nora to have a season in Lon- 
don. I am not, I believe, more worldly than another ; 
but how could I remain blind to the advantages that 
might accrue to my sister from being taken up by a 
duke and a duke’s mother ? Hurstbourne, meanwhile, 
had converted her into so vehement a partisan that she 
actually found and proclaimed much to admire in Mr, 
Somers, a stupid little sandy-haired man, who had not 
even sense enough to keep his opinions to himself. 
He avowed that he was a Radical and appeared willing 
to go any lengths in the way of ordinary radicalism, 
though, for some reason best known to himself, he was 
prepared to lend his valuable support to the Irish 
policy of the existing administration. It seemed to me 
that we had got hold of about as weak a candidate as 
was obtainable, and I should not have been very much 
astonished to hear that a similar conviction was en- 
tertained by persons of greater importance than I. 
The Carlton, I presume, looked on at the contest with 
serenity, if not with absolute approval, since, in any 
event, the issue could not affect the Ministerial Major- 
ity. 


84 


HIS GRACE. 


Late one afternoon, when we were drinking five 
o’clock tea in the library, the rival candidate surprised 
us by calling. He followed his name into the room, 
looking bland and amiable and, I daresay, not more 
supercilious than he could help. He had come, he 
said, to show there was no ill feeling, though I cannot 
answer for it that those were his exact words. He 
shook hands with everybody and sat down and had 
some tea ; he evidently did not think that the course 
which he had adopted in standing for the division 
against a gentleman who had the ostensible support of 
his own party called for any apology from him. 

“ In cases of this kind,” he remarked composedly, 
while he munched a slice of bread and butter, “ one can 
but hope that the best man will win, and by the best 
man one naturally means one’s own man. It is a mat- 
ter of very little consequence to me personally whether 
I take my seat in the present Parliament or not ; but, 
situated as I am, I felt that all this bother must be ac- 
cepted as one of my duties.” 

“ I hope you don’t find it a very irksome duty,” said 
Hurstbourne rather grimly. 

“ Oh, not so very. It is a bore to have to shout out 
commonplaces from a platform, but not more of a bore 
for me than it is for you and your friends. I have the 
great advantage, you see, of knowing exactly what I 
mean and saying it.” 

This challenge was promptly taken up by one of the 
eminent personages present, who said that, for his 
part, he knew very well what he meant and that he 
would be interested in hearing the precise meaning of 
Mr. Gascoigne’s apparent desire to stir up discord in 
the Unionist camp. However, I don’t think he ob- 


HIS GRACE . 


85 


tained the information for which he asked, although 
Mr. Gascoigne was courteously and discursively ex- 
planatory. The latter wound up by declaring that the 
wishes of the constituency were really his wishes ; his 
sole object was to ascertain what these were, and if, 
contrary to his expectation, it should be proved to him 
that the division was a Radical one, he would bow to 
the expressed will of the majority. 

“ Well, if the verdict of the majority goes against 
you, you will have to acknowledge yourself beaten, I 
suppose, whether you make a bow or not,” remarked 
Hurstbourne. “Not that we are Radicals, but then 
you know that as well as I do.” 

“ I was under the impression that Mr. Somers had 
sounded the Radical trumpet and thumped the Radi- 
cal drum rather loudly,” said Mr. Gascoigne, with a 
smile. “ You, of course, are not a Radical — indeed it 
would be hardly in the nature of things that you should 
be — so, in the event of my being returned, you will 
have the consolation of knowing that the Legislature 
contains one more humble defender of your interests. 
Either way, I trust and believe that this political con- 
flict will produce nothing resembling a breach between 
us.” 

Hurstbourne, it may be assumed, shared neither that 
trust nor that belief ; for he only responded by a dubi- 
ous sort of grunt, and the rest of us grunted in sym- 
pathy. It is almost impossible to convey by a mere 
report of his words any idea of how exasperating and 
offensive Paul Gascoigne was. I daresay that what 
provoked us beyond all endurance was that, although 
he had sinned flagrantly against the laws of both poli- 
tical and social courtesy, he had the air of being quite 


86 


HIS GRACE. 


willing to forgive us which belongs to conscious superi- 
ority. Or, if it was not that, it may have been that he 
obviously counted upon defeating us at the poll. I 
am glad to be able to add that not one of us openly 
lost his or her temper. It was only after he had taken 
his leave that we exploded ; and I must say that 
never in my life have I heard a man abused with more 
hearty unanimity. Lady Charles, who, when roused, 
has a fine flow of language at command, expressed, I 
believe, the general opinion when she asserted that 
that nephew of hers was a despicable, sneaking, mali- 
cious hypocrite. 

“ He ought to have been a woman ! ” she cried, 
nobly surrendering the defence of her sex for the time 
being. “No man would stoop to the miserable little 
devices that he adopts to gratify his feeling of jealousy 
and revenge. As if everybody couldn’t see that he 
came here to-day in the hope of making us put our- 
selves in the wrong by quarrelling with him ! — and as if 
everybody didn’t know that, if he had been the Duke 
of Hurstbourne, he would have backed up Mr. Som- 
ers ! He never will be the Duke of Hurstbourne, 
though ; I can promise him that much ! ” 

The holder of the title to which Mr. Paul Gascoigne 
was heir-presumptive laughed a little at this promise, 
which in truth sounded a somewhat bold one ; but he 
answered: “ All right, mother ; I’ll take care of my- 
self, if only for his sake, and if it ever should please 
Heaven to let me have a chance of fighting him with- 
out the gloves, I’ll do my best to give him a licking 
that he won’t forget in a hurry. For the present, I 
suppose we shall have to content ourselves with lick- 
ing him out of the field on the polling-day.” 


HIS GRACE. 


87 


It really did seem as if we ought to be able to ao 
complish that triumph, considering how universally un- 
popular our opponent was ; yet, as the decisive moment 
drew near, it became increasingly evident that the 
struggle was going to be a close one. Promises of sup- 
port we did receive in large numbers ; but those who 
were most competent to gauge the true sentiments of 
the voters expressed a good deal of doubt as to whether 
all those promises would be fulfilled. Mr. Gascoigne, 
besides being a very powerful man by reason of his 
wealth and his position in the county, was a fairly 
fluent speaker ; he appeared to have convinced many 
of the electors that his views were those held by the 
late Duke ; not a few of them were persuaded that 
such a candidate as Mr. Somers would not, in the late 
Duke’s time, have had the countenance of the Castle ; 
and as the fight was not, strictly speaking, a party one, 
there was, we were told, a probability of numerous 
abstentions. 

Towards the end of the time our exertions grew in- 
defatigable, and Hurstbourne, who was in high spirits 
and sanguine of success, vowed that, whatever hap- 
pened, a vote of thanks would be due to Nora. 

“ Your sister has gone about winning hearts and votes 
for us like a regular trump, Martyn,” said he. “ She is 
worth a dozen of a lazy old philosopher like you — at 
least, at an election time.” 

She is, I am sure, worth more than a dozen of me 
at any time, and she certainly threw herself into this 
fray with a vigor beyond the capacity of so lukewarm 
a politician as myself. All the same, I don’t think that 
the political question can have had much to do with 
her enthusiasm ; for she confessed to me, when nobody 


88 


HIS GRACE. 


was listening, that in her conversation with electors and 
electors’ wives she had been obliged to avoid all dis- 
cussion of the respective programmes of Conservatives, 
Liberal Unionists, Gladstonians and Home Rulers. 

“ What is the use,” she pertinently inquired, “ of 
squabbling over matters which neither they nor I under- 
stand ? This is simply a fight between the Duke and 
Mr. Gascoigne, and if they prefer Mr. Gascoigne to the 
Duke, all I can say is that they are too stupid to deserve 
the franchise at all.” 

It is to be hoped that a more statesmanlike view of 
the situation was taken by Hurstbourne’s eminent 
guests; although, from certain remarks which they 
allowed to fall, I gathered that Mr. Somers, with his 
indiscreet utterances as to the established Church, the 
hereditary branch of the Legislature and the principle 
of one man one vote, did not command their entire 
sympathy. Before the election day they all left us. 
They had done everything that they could do, they had 
talked themselves hoarse, their presence could render 
no further service to the cause, and some of them had 
engagements elsewhere, while others proposed to seek 
a little well-earned rest in their own homes. So they 
departed, after assuring their entertainer of their hearty 
good wishes and receiving in return the thanks which 
were their due. 

As soon as the last of them had driven away Hurst- 
bourne, with a beaming countenance, came skipping 
into the room which had been appropriated by Lady 
Charles as her boudoir. 

“ Hooray ! ” he shouted ; “ now let’s all of us stand 
on our heads ! ” 

He suited the action to the word and made me do 


HIS GRACE. 


89 


the same, notwithstanding my protestations. I hope it 
is not necessary for me to add that our example was 
not followed by the two remaining members of the 
quartette ; but I daresay three of us were really very 
thankful for our deliverance. Lady Charles, I believe, 
liked company and derived enjoyment from rubbing 
shoulders with distinguished persons. 

But if we were inclined to be a trifle uproarious, now 
that we were once more left to ourselves and could speak 
before we thought, instead of thinking before we spoke, 
a very effectual damper was in store for our too exuberant 
spirits. We all stayed at home on the polling-day : we 
had been advised to do so, and we recognized the wisdom 
of the advice ; for, after all, it does not become a duke, 
and his immediate circle to descend from the serene 
heights on which they dwell into the turmoil of a con- 
tested election. But of course arrangements had been 
made for acquainting us with the result at the earliest 
possible moment, and very sad were the tidings con- 
veyed to us by a mounted messenger. Anybody can 
account for a victory — it is to be accounted for by the 
straightforward and satisfactory assumption that the 
majority of the electors are intelligent men — but when 
one is called upon to explain away a defeat, a rather 
larger supply of ingenuity has to be brought into play. 
For the next few days I made a careful study of the 
London newspapers, and I gathered, after perusing 
many leading-articles, that the return of Mr. Gascoigne 
by a majority of over 800 was chiefly due to the ill- 
advised interference of the young Duke of Hurstbourne. 
No constituency — so these learned scribes appeared to 
have discovered — likes being dictated to ; no honest 
Englishman is apt to be predisposed in favor of a Radical 


r 


9 ° 


HIS GRACE. 


who pledges himself to support a Tory administration ; 
a contest of the kind which had just been witnessed, 
ought never to have taken place at all, and if the 
juvenile nobleman who had exerted himself so ostenta- 
tiously in promoting the candidature of Mr. Somers had 
been a little older and a little more experienced, he 
would have thrown the weight of his influence, such as 
it was, into the scale on his cousin’s behalf. That is 
the sort of gratitude that one obtains from One’s friends 
when one has been beaten. 

I don’t think Hurstbourne was greatly disheartened 
or distressed by the comments of the press ; but he 
did not affect to deny that Paul Gascoigne’s triumph 
was a heavy blow to him. 

“ That beggar has got first blood,” said he ; “ there’s 
no disputing that. He’s very much mistaken if he 
thinks I shall throw up the sponge, though. We’ll do 
better at the next election, and in the meantime he 
won’t trample me underfoot without a fight for it, I can 
tell him.” 

“ Never,” declared Lady Charles, who was highly 
incensed, “ will we receive that man or speak to him 
again ! He deserves to be cut by the head of the 
family, and cut he shall be.” 

Nora, though not less angry, was a good deal less 
silly. “ You mustn’t let him think that you feel in the 
least sore,” said she : “ the best plan would be to ask 
him to dinner and congratulate him and pat him on the 
back. He has secured a seat in Parliament— much 
good may it do him ! Who, except a few really 
clever people, cares to spend the best part of the year 
listening to dreary debates in a stuffy chamber, filled 
with vulgar nobodies ? Parliament isn’t everything, and 


HIS GRACE. 


9 1 

out of parliament I should think Mr. Gascoigne was 
about the easiest man in England to put to confusion. 
He poisons foxes, he doesn’t play cricket, he isn’t much 
of a shot, and I haven’t yet met a single individual who 
pretends to like him personally. Just let him try to 
trample upon his betters, that’s all ! ” 

Hurstbourne considered this a very spirited speech 
on Nora’s part. He told me so afterwards, adding that 
he believed my sister was as shrewd a woman as his 
mother — which he meant for a high compliment. He 
did not detect any shrewdness at all in my recommenda- 
tion that he should leave his cousin alone ; he was un- 
able to seethe slightest point in my allusion to brazen 
and earthenware vessels ; he said he was a peaceable 
creature, but that if people chose to tread upon his 
toes, they must take the consequences. He was, in a 
word, so evidently bent upon having his revenge by 
hook or by crook that it was useless to reason with him. 
Were this world inhabited only by the male variety of 
the species, we should doubtless be spared an infinity 
of worry, not to mention occasional catastrophes ; but 
we have been created male and female, and, like the 
unwary persons who tread upon Hurstbourne’s toes, I 
suppose we must accept the consequences of our em- 
barrassing position. 


9 2 


HIS GRACE. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

BREAKERS AHEAD. 

On looking back at the concluding paragraph of the 
previous chapter, I see that I have permitted myself 
therein to speak of the female sex in terms which may 
seem to imply that I am not alive to the nature of 
woman’s beneficent mission upon the surface of this 
planet. But I really did not mean to be rude when I 
wrote the words, and should any lady do me the honor 
to peruse the present narrative (as it seems not im- 
probable that a few will), I would venture to appeal to 
that lady’s kindness and sympathy not to be too hard 
upon me. She will, I know, admit that women, and 
especially young women, require to be managed by 
women ; with her quick intelligence she will at once 
guess why the memory of bygone irritation and per- 
plexity caused me to express myself irritably ; of course, 
too, she will have seen ere this something which I 
solemnly declare that I never dreamt of until circum- 
stances forced a most distressing conjecture upon me. 
And if I may now be permitted — like a parson in 
those churches where the men sit on one side of the 
aisle and the women on the other — to turn to the male 
section of my readers, I hope that they also will feel 


HIS GRACE. 


93 


for me, thougn perhaps it would be unreasonable to 
expect that they should acquit me of stupidity. There 
is, no doubt, always a possibility, almost a probability, 
that when a young man and a young woman are thrown 
together from morning to night in a country house, 
they will end by falling in love with one another. I 
quite allow that ; only I do think it was excessively 
improbable that the Duke of Hurstbourne should fall 
in love with my sister, or she with him. It was so 
absolutely out of the question that anything could 
come of it if they did, and so natural to assume that 
they must both be thoroughly aware of that ! More- 
over, Nora was already betrothed to Mr. Burgess, and 
Hurstbourne knew it. 

Nevertheless, I ought to have had my wits about me, 
and I suppose, if I had been a woman, I should have 
had them about me ; although I may plead, as some 
extenuation of my blindness, that Lady Charles Gas- 
coigne’s wits appeared to have gone wool-gathering. 
Lady Charles, I imagine, saw no more danger in her 
son’s intimate companionship with Nora than she 
would have seen in his making a friend of his grand- 
mother or of an infant : the one thing which impressed 
her most powerfully about him was that he was a duke : 
dukes, it is generally conceded, cannot contract matri- 
monial alliances with a class far beneath their own, 
and even if he did indulge in an occasional flirtation 
with some impossible person, he would be none the 
worse off for that. I am not sure that — supposing 
these to have been her sentiments — she would have 
been wrong : only it is obvious that my point of view 
was not, and could not be, identical with hers. 

So, if the reader pleases, I will write myself down an 


94 


HIS GRACE. 


ass. I suspected nothing : it did not occur to me to 
attribute Hurstbourne’s determination to stay on for a 
while at the Castle to any other cause than the con- 
tinuance of the hard weather, which, as he truly said, 
prevented its being worth any man’s while to under- 
take a journey to Leicestershire : I did not even smell 
a rat when a thaw came and when he telegraphed for 
three of his hunters to be despatched from Melton. 
The fact is that I was very busy and not a little 
bothered with accounts : I could not often accompany 
these young people when they begged me to ride or 
skate with them : and, as they seemed to get on 
quite comfortably without me, I devoted my attention 
to my work and did not always remember to inquire 
how they had been spending their many hours of 
leisure. Lady Charles slept a good deal. She was 
one of those lazy, good-humored persons who are 
usually contented so long as those about them are 
contented, and although an uneventful mode of exist- 
ence may not have been greatly to her taste, she did 
not complain of it. Most likely she thought that it 
would not last long and that she would soon be 
removed into circles where the fascinations of hair- 
dye and pearl-powder are properly appreciated. 

I believe the first thing that gave me a vague sensa- 
tion of uneasiness — and even then it was but a vague 
sensation — was Hurstbourne’s saying abruptly to me, 
one evening, that I really ought to insist upon my 
sister’s engagement being broken off. 

“ It’s utterly monstrous, you know,’* said he. “ It 
can’t be allowed to go on; and the sooner that old 
bloke is told so the better, in my opinion.” 

I replied that it scarcely came within the range of my 


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95 


privileges to convey the suggested information to the 
old bloke, but that, as I had already mentioned, I was 
not without hope of that information being imparted to 
him sooner or later by one more directly interested in 
the matter than I was. 

“ Oh, it’s all very fine to throw the whole responsi- 
bility upon your sister,” returned Hurstbourne rather 
angrily ; “ but you know as well as I do that she hates 
the man, and that she would give him the sack to- 
morrow if she wasn’t afraid of becoming a burden upon 
you.” 

“Upon my honor, I don’t know that,” I answered. 
“ How do you know it, pray ? ” 

He said he had heard it from her own lips, which, I 
confess, startled me, for, considering that Nora had 
not for a long time past so much as mentioned Mr. 
Burgess’s name to me, it did seem strange that she 
should have made a confidant of a mere acquaintance. 
However, he dispelled my nascent apprehensions by 
dwelling upon her unselfishness and by a repetition 
of his statement that she was afraid of burdening me 
with the expense of her maintenance. “ Which is 
utter nonsense,” he added : “ because as long as you 
remain here, she won’t cost you a penny. You needn’t 
tell me, my dear old chap, that you wouldn’t grudge 
her every penny you possess ; that’s a matter of course. 
Only you must see that she can’t very well take the 
first step : it’s for you to do that.” 

Was it for me to kick the reverend gentleman into 
space ? I was unable to think so, much as I should 
have enjoyed the task, and I assured my friend that I 
could not, without due authorization, assume such a 
responsibility. “ I told you long ago,” said I, “ that I 


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96 

abhorred this engagement ; but I am not entitled to 
forbid it, and unless Nora breaks it off of her own 
accord, as I hope she will, I can do nothing.” 

“ Oh, bosh ! ” he returned impatiently ; “ there’s no 
doubt about her wishing to break it off. All you have 
to do is to show a little sympathy and — and encourage- 
ment, don’t you know.” 

I did not take his advice. I said to myself that 
.Nora would certainly come to me as soon as she had 
made up her mind, and perhaps I was not altogether 
pleased with Hurstbourne’s intervention, although, as I 
said before, his words only caused me a temporary 
uneasiness. During the next few days I confidently 
expected my sister to apply to me for counsel and con- 
solation, and she disappointed me by doing nothing of 
the sort. Indeed, I scarcely saw her : for when she 
was not out riding with Hurstbourne she was playing 
billiards or otherwise amusing herself with him. There 
was nothing that I could detect at all resembling a 
flirtation between them : they were more like a couple 
of children than two grown-up people. At luncheon 
and at dinner they engaged in a perpetual squabble, 
to which Lady Charles and I listened with benevolent 
amusement : she criticised his horsemanship, while he 
did his best to get a rise out of her by pretending to 
doubt her knowledge of the subject under discussion : 
sometimes he was successful and chuckled gleefully 
over his success, sometimes she managed to provoke 
him into vainglorious boastings : it all sounded quite 
silly and harmless. 

So I went back to my figures, which, with all the 
pains that I bestowed upon them, could not be made 
to work out to my satisfaction, and reflected, foolishly 


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97 


enough, that sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof. 
The chief evil of those days, from Hurstbourne’s point 
of view, was that they were non-hunting days. It was 
not, to be sure, actually freezing ; but the frost had 
gone deep into the ground, meets were not yet adver- 
tised, and there were many signs that the partial thaw 
which had set in was not going to last long. One 
night the wind veered to the east of north, the next 
morning we woke to find our windows coated with ice ; 
and then there was nothing left for a poor fox-hunter 
to do but to curse the climate of his native land and 
inquire disconsolately what had become of his skates. 

“His Grace,” said Lady Charles to me, with her 
comical little air of condescension, “is wonderfully 
good at accommodating himself to circumstances. You 
may imagine how tedious it must be to him to go on 
living in this humdrum way, removed from all his 
friends and all his amusements ; but he never grum- 
bles, as other men would ; and whatever his feelings 
may be, he contrives to hide them.” 

In common justice to him, it must be admitted that 
he hid them very well indeed. Any uninformed person 
would have supposed that he was enjoying himself im- 
mensely, notwithstanding the severe shakings which he 
received from his daily falls upon the ice, and when 
his mother disinterestedly proposed that they should 
run up to London for a week and see the new plays, 
he looked quite dismayed. 

“ London in an east wind ! ” he exclaimed, in a tone 
of pained remonstrance : “ oh, I don’t think that would 
be good enough — I don’t really ! Why, there would 
be such dense fogs that we shouldn’t be able to stir 
out of doors all day long ; and as for the plays, they’re 

7 


9 8 


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utter rot. You can see that for yourself in the papers. 
Of course if you want to go, mother, we’ll go ; but I 
don’t believe you would like it when you were there, 
and goodness knows how long it will be before I get 
another opportunity of proving to Miss Martyn that, 
with a little practice, I can do all the figures that she is 
forever bragging about.” 

“ I wasn’t thinking of myself,” answered good- 
natured Lady Charles : “ I was only afraid that you 
must be getting bored to death here. If you aren’t, so 
much the better.” 

“ Oh, I’m all right,” Hurstbourne declared, with a 
prompt brightening of face and tone. “ I shouldn’t 
like our friend Paul to think that he had driven me out of 
the county like a beaten cur ; besides, I’d really rather 
be here than anywhere else. Skating isn’t hunting, but 
it does well enough to fill up the time when there’s no 
other sport to be had, and it’s better than totting up 
sums in addition all day long, anyhow. Now, look 
here, Martyn, you must come down to the lake with us 
this afternoon, and get a little healthy exercise. I 
believe half the time when you pretend to be so busy 
you’re only writing sonnets, or something of that sort.” 

A modest blush suffused my cheeks, for I do feel 
that, however communicative Nora might have seen fit 
to be respecting her own affairs, she ought to have 
respected her brother’s secrets ; but she looked as if 
she did not know what Hurstbourne meant, and I 
thought I wouldn’t pursue the topic. I said I wouia 
run down to the ice in the course of the afternoon if I 
could manage it, but that, without any humbug, I had 
an awful lot of work on hand. 

My excuse was accepted ; perhaps, after all, my com- 


HIS GRACE . 


99 


pany was not so very ardently desired, and soon after- 
wards I was free to grapple once more with those daily 
labors, in the discharge of which I received no assist- 
ance from the only person who could have rendered 
them lighter or more hopeful for me. To cut your coat 
according to your cloth is an excellent plan : but what 
size or shape of coat can be cut when you are ignorant 
of the quantity of cloth at your disposal ? What 
bothered me was, that although I had pretty well ascer- 
tained the amount of my employer’s income, actual and 
prospective, I had no means of discovering more than 
a certain proportion of his expenditure. He had al- 
ready slightly overdrawn his banking account ; I did 
not like to ask him whether I was correct in my sus- 
picion that he had borrowed money from less trust- 
worthy and more expensive gentlemen than the family 
bankers. Nevertheless, I resolved, that same after- 
noon, that I would risk his displeasure by putting the 
above inquisitorial question to him. Unless I did so, 
and unless he answered me candidly, my services would 
be scarcely worth the price that he was paying for 
them ; so that, when I closed my books and took my 
skates in my hand, I saw quite clearly the path marked 
out for me by the finger of duty — which is always a 
comforting mental position to have reached. 

I was crossing the park at a slinging trot, planning 
as I went, how I could lead Hurstbourne aside and 
stretch him on the rack without further delay, when I 
met my proposed victim, who was running as hard as 
he could in the opposite direction, and who, on catch- 
ing sight of me, pulled up. He was breathless, and 
much agitated. 

“ Your sister has had an accident, Martyn,” said he, 

L. or C. 


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hurriedly ; “ you’ll find her in the boat-house. I hope 
it isn’t serious, but I don’t know, and I’m going back 
to the Castle to send for the doctor. Some infernal 
tinker ran full tilt against her, and knocked her over. 
She was sensible when I left her, so there’s no concus- 
sion of the brain, I trust, only I’m afraid there must be 
a broken bone, because she seemed to be suffering so 
much. Go to her, and have her carried up to the 
house if you think she can stand it — I mustn’t stop. 
That fool of a doctor was there skating yesterday when 
nobody wanted him — why the deuce couldn’t he be 
there to-day ! Just like him ! Well, I must run on.” 

He was out of sight before I had time to ask for 
further particulars, but, indeed, it was plain that I 
should obtain speedier information from the evidence 
of my own senses than I was likely to get out of him. 
It did not take me long to reach the boat-house, where 
I found Nora lying upon a pile of cloaks and overcoats, 
and surrounded by a dismayed and sympathetic throng. 
She was pale, and seemed to be in a good deal of pain, 
but I perceived at once, to my great relief, that her 
brain was uninjured, and, as soon as she saw me, she 
tried, without very much success, to summon up a laugh. 

“ Don’t look so horrified, Phil,” said she ; “ I’m not 
killed this time. I had all the breath knocked out of 
me, and I have bumped the back of my head, and I 
rather think I have 'broken my arm, but I’m quite 
capable of walking home, if they would let me.” 

It appealed to me that she might, at any rate, be 
carried home out of the cold, and I was making prep- 
arations for doing this when, by good luck, the doctor, 
who had come, as usual, to seek a little recreation after 
his daily rounds, arrived upon the scene. 


HIS GRACE. 


IOl 


“ What’s all this ? ” asked the burly little redheaded 
man. “ Been coming to grief, Miss Martyn ? Not 
through any want of skill on your own part then, I’m 
quite sure.” 

A tall, melancholy-looking youth, upon whom the 
eyes of the rest of the assemblage were fixed in severe 
condemnation, confessed, almost tearfully, that he had 
been the unintentional cause of the disaster. He pro- 
tested with pathetic earnestness that he wished he had 
broken both his legs before he had been so clumsy, but 
his repentance met with scant acknowledgment from 
the doctor, who interrupted him by remarking curtly 
that if he hadn’t anything more sensible to say than 
that, he had better take himself off. The other by- 
standers were not much more civilly dealt with. They 
were requested to go outside and stay there until their 
assistance was asked for ; after which there was a brief 
examination of the patient, followed by a satisfactory 
verdict. 

“No great damage done,” said the doctor, who was 
kneeling beside my sister, and who glanced round to 
nod reassuringly at me : “ only a shaking and a few 
contusions and a dislocated shoulder, which I’ll put 
right in a minute. Now, Miss Martyn, I’m not going 
to hurt you very much, but whether I hurt you or not, 
you’ll have to bear it. Just give me your hand, will 
you ? ” 

He kicked off his boot, placed his foot under her 
arm-pit and, with one vigorous tug, the operation was 
accomplished. “ There,” said he. “ Now we must take 
you home and put you to bed : you have had more of 
a shock than you think for, but you’ll find it out to- 
morrow, and you’ll be pretty stiff for a day or two, I 


102 


HIS GRACE. 


can tell you. Lucky it was no worse ! That young 
gabby was trying to skate backwards, I suppose. Well, 
he won’t attempt to do such a thing again, unless he 
has the whole lake to himself, you may be sure. It 
isn’t likely that he will be allowed to forget to-day’s 
performance.” 

As a matter of fact, I believe that the poor young 
man never has been allowed to forget it. In quiet 
rural neighborhoods the memory of all performances, 
whether good or bad, is apt to die hard, and public 
indignation had been powerfully aroused by this 
mishap to a lady who, as I think I have mentioned be- 
fore, had known how to make herself popular. How- 
ever, we did all we could to convince him that we bore 
no malice : Nora insisted upon sending for him before 
we took her home, in order that he might see for him- 
self how little she had suffered from an unavoidable 
collision : even Hurstbourne, whom we encountered 
on our way back, and who expressed extreme joy on 
finding that his apprehensions had been exaggerated, 
went so far as to promise that he would not break the 
stupid idiot’s head. 

I should not be telling the truth, were I to deny 
that I myself felt a strong inclination, in the course of 
the same evening, to break the head of another stupid 
idiot, and that that head was placed above the shoulders 
of the Duke of Hurstbourne. Of course his conduct 
had been due to mere stupidity and idiocy ; of course 
he had no serious intentions ; of course he would have 
been horrified at the idea of breaking a rustic maiden’s 
heart for his amusement ; and of course two-thirds of 
the cruelty that is committed in this world is uninten- 
tional cruelty. That is just the provoking part of it. 


HIS GRACE. 


103 


Nora was put to bed as soon as she reached the 
Castle, and Lady Charles fussed round her in the 
kindest possible way, and everything was done to make 
her comfortable. She was going to be all right in a 
day or two, only in the meantime her nervous system 
had been upset, and I suppose that was why she in- 
formed me abruptly, while I was sitting beside her and 
endeavoring to interest her in the latest intelligence 
conveyed to us by the evening papers, that she had 
determined to throw over Mr. Burgess. Immediately 
after making this announcement she burst into tears, 
which disturbed and alarmed me, because crying is 
not, as a general rule, one of her weaknesses. I could 
only say (for I was reluctant to agitate her more than 
I could help) that I was very glad to hear it and that 
I saw no reason for her distressing herself about a 
thoroughly sensible resolution ! but, as she did not 
stop weeping, I inquired presently whether she had 
any cause for unhappiness beyon^ that which she had 
mentioned. 

“ None whatever,” she answered. “ It makes me 
feel rather like a brute, and it leaves me as a dead 
weight upon your hands, that’s all. Still I can’t help 
it ! I don’t love him, and I can’t possibly marry him ! 
You yourself told me once, Phil, that it was shameful 
to marry a man whom one doesn’t love.” 

I assured her that I had no inclination at all to 
recede from an opinion which I have always held, and 
which I continue to hold to the present day. “ But,” 
I ventured to add, “ it isn’t, I suppose, out of defer- 
ence to my views that you have so suddenly changed 
your own. Hurstbourne told me, the other day, that 
you had been speaking to him about your engagement, 


104 


HIS GRACE . 


and no doubt he has dissuaded you from keeping it 
That is all very well, only, Hurstbourne, you know, 
good fellow though he is, is not precisely one whose 
advice it would always be safe to follow blindly.” 

At this Nora began to laugh. “ Oh,” said she, “ the 
Duke is a goose and you are wise ; nobody knows that 
better than he does. All the same, it does occasion- 
ally come to pass that wisdom proceeds out of the 
mouth of fools.” 

“ Is it his wisdom or his folly that leads you to dis- 
cuss subjects with him upon which you decline to enter 
with your brother ? ” I asked sternly. 

I looked at her, hoping against hope that she would 
not blush, but she did blush ; so I picked up the even- 
ing paper again, with a heavy heart, and read out 
scraps of fashionable intelligence which were probably 
as unmeaning to her as they were to me. She had 
virtually told me all that there was to tell ; I could not 
expect, or even wish, that she should be more explicit 


HIS GRACE. 


IO S 


CHAPTER IX. 

MISS ST. GEORGE. 

Nora was soon herself again. She had been men- 
tally as well as physically upset, and she had said 
things which she may possibly have regretted when 
her nervous system recovered its customary equilib- 
rium ; but she had quite made up her mind to renounce 
the care of Mr. Burgess and his children. In assuring 
me of her unaltered resolution she, nevertheless, took 
occasion to beg that I would say nothing about it for 
the present. 

“ There is no hurry,” said she. “ Mr. Burgess, as you 
know, isn’t in a hurry, and of course my private affairs 
don’t concern anybody here except you and me.” 

“ Most certainly they don’t,” I replied, with an 
emphasis of the futility of which I was fully aware. 
“ It can’t signify a straw to Lady Charles Gascoigne 
whether you marry this or that person, or whether you 
remain a spinster ; as for Hurstbourne, he is a simple, 
kind-hearted fellow, and I can well understand that he 
may have been shocked at the idea of your engaging 
yourself to a man of Mr. Burgess’s age; but I am 
afraid he will forget your existence and mine as soon 
as we are out of his sight, and his own affairs, you may 


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be sure, interest him a hundred times more than yours 
— which, after all, is only natural.” 

“You do the duke an injustice,” said Nora; “he 
doesn’t forget you when you are out of his sight. He 
looks upon you as his best friend, and I don’t think he 
is very far wrong.” 

Then she laughed and inquired whether, by any 
chance, I imagined that she had lost her heart to this 
appreciative scion of the British aristocracy. 

I avoided giving a direct answer. I was under no 
illusion upon the subject ; but I had sense enough to 
see that the mischief had passed beyond the range of 
verbal correctives. What course it behoved me to take, 
and what course our mother would have taken, had 
she been situated as I was, I could not tell, but it 
seemed to me best to promise that I would keep Nora’s 
secret and to adopt every possible precaution for pre- 
venting further private intercourse between her and 
Hurstbourne. I can’t say for certain, but I rather sus- 
pect that, during the ensuing ten days, they both of 
them found me a persistent and intolerable nuisance. 
They behaved very well about it. They professed, and 
even appeared, to be delighted with the companionship 
which I so ruthlessly thrust upon them ; they never 
inquired how it was that I had such a superfluity of 
leisure upon my hands all of a sudden ; there was not, 
properly speaking, the smallest flirtation between them 
when I joined in their games of billiards, or when — a 
genuine thaw having at last set in — I attended them 
in the hunting-field. Yet, watching them narrowly, I 
perceived by a thousand little signs that my fears 
rested upon only too solid a foundation, and that the 
worst that could happen had happened. The worst, I 


HIS GRACE. 


107 

mean, as regarded the existence of a calamity which 
I was powerless to avert or minimize ; of course a 
much worse time was in store for poor Nora ; for 
whereas she was now ridiculously happ)^ it was beyond 
doubt that she would ere long be quite as ridiculously, 
but not less thoroughly, miserable. And all this be- 
cause a well-meaning young man with a rather hand- 
some face hadn’t vanity enough to preserve him from 
making havoc of the future of a girl to whom he had 
taken a passing fancy ! I feel confident that everyone 
who reads these lines will excuse me for having 
snapped viciously at him every now and then, with- 
out ostensible cause for so doing, and will agree that 
he ought not, in all conscience, to have looked so sur- 
prised and hurt when he was snapped at. 

Well, I daresay he became less dense later on, but 
whether he did, or whether he didn’t, the inevitable 
had to occur. One morning there was a lawn meet at 
the house of a neighboring squire, which was patron- 
ized by all the great people of the county, together with 
their wives, their families, their horses, and their car- 
riages. Amongst the latter I speedily recognized the 
equipage which had been sent to the station to meet Mr. 
Paul Gascoigne on the day when he had so thoughtfully 
put our noses out of joint by ordering postillions ; if I 
did not at once recognize one of the ladies who sat in 
it, facing its owner, that was because she was about the 
last person in the world whom I should have expected 
to encounter in such a place, or on such an occasion. 

But Nora, who was close beside me, touched my 
elbow with her hunting-crop, exclaiming, not without a 
perceptible inflection of alarm in her voice, “ Good 
gracious, Phil, there’s Lady Deverell!” And, sure 


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enough, the forefinger and the hook nose of the vener- 
able lady began presently to convey to us signals which 
it was impossible to disregard. 

Her ladyship — so we were informed after we had 
approached and had exchanged greetings with her, and 
with the newly-elected M.P. — was staying for a short 
time at Lavenham. She was accompanied by her 
niece, Miss St. George, to whom she was graciously 
pleased to introduce us, and who, I thought, took some- 
what unnecessary pains to show us what very small fry 
we were in her estimation. Miss St. George was a very 
tall young lady. Her large, dark eyes only rested upon 
me superciliously for a single moment ; yet such is my 
calm impartiality that I was ready to acknowledge at 
the time, as I am ready to acknowledge now, the fact 
of her being singularly beautiful. I don’t say that I 
admired her, that is quite another thing. There is no 
law that I know of which compels free-born Britons to 
admire beauty when they see it, and if my taste is bad, 
it is nevertheless my taste, and will remain such. 

For about five minutes I listened with one ear to the 
fluent political commonplaces and the ill-disguised po- 
litical exultation of Mr. Paul Gascoigne, while with the 
other I caught fragments of the kindly lecture which 
Lady Deverell was addressing to my sister. “ You 
really must not ask me to approve of it, my dear,” I 
heard her saying; “hunting cannot be considered a 
suitable amusement for the future wife of a parish 
priest. As for sport in the abstract, there is much to 
be said in favor of its being supported by those whose 
means and position entitle them to engage in it. Mr.* 
Gascoigne, as I daresay you know, is a sportsman him- 
self and an excellent shot, but he has far too deep a 


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109 

sense of his responsibilities to give up his life to sport, 
as his cousin does. Though, to be sure, I understand 
that when the present Duke of Hurstbourne is not 
engaged in sport, he is usually even worse employed.” 

At that moment the present Duke of Hurstbourne 
rode up and joined us, thereby, perhaps, preserving a 
friend of his from speaking unadvisedly with her lips. 
He greeted his cousin pleasantly — Hurstbourne can’t 
help being pleasant, except wheh he means to be down- 
right rude — he was introduced to Lady Deverell, who 
bowed in a very distant and stately fashion, and I 
noticed that Miss St. George’s languid eyes brightened 
a little as she acknowledged his salutation. How queer 
it is that the stupidest and most unobservant people 
'sometimes discover, by a sort of inspiration, things 
which have not even happened yet, but which are cer- 
tainly going to happen. I know it is so, because 
I can speak from personal experience; but I cannot 
account for the fact, nor have I the slightest idea why 
I was persuaded, before Miss St. George had ex- 
changed a dozen words with Hurstbourne, that she 
intended to set her cap at him. I overheard all, or 
nearly all, that they said to one another ; nothing could 
have been more innocent or more dull. It was a good 
job, he remarked, that that beastly frost had gone at 
last ; she assented, and, in reply to a question of his, 
confessed that she was fond of riding. She added that 
she did sometimes hunt, but that she had not put on 
her riding-habit that day, because it had not been sug- 
gested to her that she should do so, and because she 
had been given to understand that Mr. Gascoigne was 
not a hunting man. 

“ More’s the pity,” observed Hurstbourne ; where- 


I IO 


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upon she shrugged her shoulders, and held her 
peace. 

I think there was a pause after that ; or if any further 
observations were exchanged between them, they were 
drowned by the deep voice of Lady Deverell, who had 
resumed her interrupted homily to my sister. The next 
words from Hurstbourne’s lips which caught my ear 
were of a kind which reflected credit upon him, and 
gave evidence of conciliatory and neighborly inclina- 
tions on his part. He was calling his cousin “ old 
chap,” and was inviting the whole party to come over 
and lunch some day. There wouldn’t be anything for 
them to do, he said, but perhaps they might like to 
see the place, and if Lady Deverell or Miss St. George 
cared at all about flowers, he could show them a pretty 
fair display, considering the time of year. “ No swagger 
orchids, such as I suppose you have at Lavenham ; 
still a decent amount of ordinary stove and greenhouse 
plants, you know.” 

The invitation was accepted. Mr. Gascoigne’s man- 
ner implied that he was always happy to confer a favor 
upon a poor relation ; Lady Deverell’s was that of an 
austere saint, who knows that for her there can be no 
rest in visiting the haunts of profligacy, while Miss St. 
George was almost effusive in her gratitude. 

“ Oh, thank you so much ! ” she exclaimed. “ I have 
always longed to see Hurstbourne Castle, which every- 
body says is one of the finest places in England : but I 
didn’t like to ask Mr. Gascoigne to take us there as 
sight-seers while you were at home.” 

On our way towards the covert-side Hurstbourne 
caught me up and said, “ That’s an awfully good-look- 
ing girl.” 


HIS GRACE. 


ill 


“Yes,” I replied ; “she is very good-looking indeed. 
I doubt whether she is anything more.” 

“ Oh, you be hanged ! ” returned Hurstbourne, laugh- 
ing. “ You’re an old St. what’s-his-name — Anthony, 
wasn’t it ? Pretty faces don’t appeal to you, you must 
needs have mental beauty ; whereas everybody else, 
including our esteemed friend Paul, knows that if a 
woman isn’t physically attractive, she has missed her 
vocation. I don’t suppose you noticed anything ; but 
I'll lay you two to one in whatever you like that Paul 
has lost his heart to that Miss St. George.” 

I did not take his offer, because, for one thing, I 
can’t afford to bet, and for another, he was mistaken in 
his assumption that I had noticed nothing. On the 
contrary, I had noticed that Mr. Gascoigne had not half 
liked his guest’s gracious reception of the young duke, 
and that he had made several vain attempts to break in 
upon their brief and harmless colloquy. However, I 
did not care to mention this ; I only said : “ Well, if 
he has lost his heart to her, by all means let him marry 
her. I shall not forbid the banns, nor, I presume, will 
you ; and if appearances are to be relied upon, they 
ought to make a remarkably well-suited couple.” 

Hurstbourne gave a sort of snort and left me. I knew 
just what the state of his mind was : I knew perfectly 
well that he would like to forbid the banns if he could ; 
I knew that he had been a little bit fascinated and that 
he had a very strong desire to cut his cousin out in any 
way that might seem to lie open to him. I couldn’t 
help it, though, I could only hold my tongue, and wish 
that I hadn’t been such an ass as to bring my poor dear 
Nora to Hurstbourne Castle, and wonder what Provi- 
dence could be about to let things fall out so askew. 


1 1 2 


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without the faintest apparent prospect of advantage to 
the persons concerned. My mother used to be fond of 
affirming that the designs of Providence are beyond our 
comprehension. Everything leads me to believe that 
she was right. 

We had a blank day, which was possibly the reason 
why we all three returned home out of spirits and out of 
temper. Other causes may have been at work ; but I 
can’t say for certain, because of course I don’t know 
what passed between Hurstbourne and Nora after I lost 
sight of them. The latter, when I rejoined her on the 
homeward path, had some harsh things to say about 
Lady Deverell, the justice of which I felt to be indis- 
putable, and consequently did not attempt to dispute ; 
but she cordially — almost too cordially — concurred in 
Hurstbourne’ s outspoken admiration of Miss St. George, 
and I daresay he was more surprised than I was by the 
uncalled-for way in which she snubbed him when he 
said cheerfully : 

“ Well, Miss Nora, we’ve wasted our time and our 
patience to-day, haven’t we ? But never mind ! We’ll 
have better luck next Saturday. Of course you’ll come 
out on Saturday.” 

“ 1 think not,” she replied : “ it’s hardly good enough. 
If one has a chance of being shown any sport, one can 
submit to sermons from Lady Deverell and to hours of 
improving conversation with — with other people ; but 
this doesn’t seem to be a very sporting county.” 

I don’t think anybody would accuse Hurstbourne of 
being a bad-tempered man ; but he is certainly rather 
short in the temper, and he is young ! So instead of 
asking Nora point-blank what was the matter with her 
(which would have driven her into a corner), he raised 


HIS GRACE. 


113 

his chin an inch and a half and looked huffy. Al- 
together, it was scarcely one of those days which de- 
serve to be marked with a white stohe. 

What sort of a stone ought to have marked the day 
on which Mr. Gascoigne, accompanied by his fair visi- 
tors, came to partake of luncheon with us I can’t pre- 
tend to decide. Such questions depend, of course, 
upon the point of view of the individual who holds the 
stone : and if, on that occasion, I had held a stone in 
my hand and had possessed perfect freedom of action, 
I really don’t know whether I should have hurled the 
missile at Paul Gascoigne’s head or at Lady Deverell’s 
or at Miss St. George’s. They were all of them, in their 
several ways, so extremely disagreeable. However, I 
take it that Hurstbourne did not find Miss St. George 
disagreeable, whatever may have been his opinion with 
regard to the two others. 

It was with the two others that Nora and I and poor 
Lady Charles had to deal. I don’t mind admitting now 
that they got the better of us ; because there are, after 
all, certain contests in which it is more honorable to be 
vanquished than to conquer, and although it may be 
that we should have said as many nasty things as they 
did if we had been clever enough and rude enough, I 
am sure we consulted our own dignity by remaining 
strictly on the defensive. Lady Deverell, who was an 
honest woman, insulted us all pretty openly. She 
appeared to have a violent prejudice against Hurst- 
bourne ; she despised Lady Charles ; she was dis- 
pleased with Nora, and she had always, I believe, 
regarded me as being three-fourths of a fool and a 
quarter of a knave. Her observations were not agree- 
able ; still they were not as offensive as those of Mr. 


RIS GRACE . 


114 

Gascoigne, who, while maintaining a perfectly polite 
and urbane demeanor, contrived by various more or 
less adroit insinuations to goad us into a condition 
bordering upon fury. 

Yet, as will have been surmised from my statement 
that these charming persons were left to be entertained 
by three of our number, there were excuses for Mr. 
Gascoigne. It could not have been pleasant to him to 
see Hurstbourne lead Miss St. George off to the con- 
servatories immediately after luncheon ; he could not, 
I am sure, have liked the young lady’s persistent deaf- 
ness to his hints that he, too, would be glad to inspect 
the exotics ; and by taking his revenge upon unoffend- 
ing persons he was perhaps only doing what it is human 
and natural to do. I can’t say that I liked him well 
enough to be sorry for him ; but I endeavored to make 
allowances and I abstained from inviting him to explain 
himself when he gave us to understand that his cousin 
had become mixed up with a disreputable gang of 
racing men. 

“ Racing,” said he, “ is a national pastime which 
tends, no doubt, to improve the breed of horses through- 
out the country. It is quite right that it should be 
supported ; only, I should never advise any man to 
engage in it unless he could afford to do so en grand 
seigneur .” 

“ His Grace,” observed Lady Charles, “ would always 
do that.” 

Thereupon, Mr. Gascoigne laughed a little and in- 
quired whether his Grace was a millionaire. “ Only 
millionaires,” he was good enough to inform us, “ can 
race without betting, and only people who don’t mind 
losing their money can bet without involving themselves 


HIS GRACE. 


“ 5 

in transactions which a grand seigneur would feel to be 
impossible for him.” 

I hardly know how he managed to convey to us the 
impression that in his opinion Hurstbourne’s position 
was absurdly incompatible with that of a grand seigneur; 
but such was the impression that he did convey, and 
he conveyed several others equally unflattering into 
the bargain : so it was no wonder that, after a time, a 
fine natural color asserted itself through Lady Charles’s 
powder and rouge, or that Nora affected to be pro- 
foundly interested in the contents of a book which she 
had snatched up at random from the table. 

Those plants seemed to require a great deal of ex- 
amination. I believe that I am guilty of no exaggera- 
tion when I say that a good solid hour had elapsed 
before Lady Deverell lost patience and requested that 
a servant might be despatched in search of her niece. 

“ Leila is a most good-natured girl,” said she, “ but I 
doubt whether she knows anything at all about botany, 
and I really think she has been victimized long enough. 
Besides, it is high time for us to be going.” 

Mr. Gascoigne rose with alacrity and offered to start 
in quest of the truants ; but Lady Charles said we 
would all go, and the upshot of it was that we all went. 
Through the conservatories we trooped, a grim and 
silent phalanx, Lady Charles leading the way and the 
rest of us following ; we visited the palm-house and the 
intermediate houses and hot-houses and even the stove- 
house, where the big Farleyense is ; but nowhere were 
we rewarded by a sign or a trace of our quarry ! At 
last, somebody — the humble writer of these lines, per- 
haps, put forward a timid suggestion that it might be 
worth while to draw the stables; and in the stable- 


n6 


HIS GRACE. 


yard, sure enough, we found Hurstbourne and Miss St. 
George, seated upon a couple of inverted buckets and 
conversing as unconcernedly as if nothing had been 
further from their thoughts than that they had for some 
time past been causing five respectable persons to use 
inward language quite unfit for publication respecting 
them. Hurstbourne was smoking a cigar and looked, 
as I have no doubt he felt, perfectly contented. 

“ Oh, there you all are,” he said, as we hove in 
sight, “ we were just wondering what had become of 
you.” 

One or two of us — I was one — responded by a feeble 
sort of giggle ; but Lady Deverell is not given to gig- 
gling when she is angry. 

“ What are you dreaming of to sit out of doors in 
this cold air, Leila? ” she asked. “ I understood the 
Duke to say that he wished to show you the conser- 
vatories ; though I might have guessed that he would 
be more at home with grooms than with gardeners. I 
don’t know at what hour you ordered the carriage, Mr. 
Gascoigne, but unless we start at once, we certainly 
shall not reach Lavenham before nightfall.” 

Mr. Gascoigne went off to look for his coachman, 
while Miss St. George, who did not appear to be much 
in awe of her aunt, explained that she was not in the 
least cold and that she agreed with the Duke of Hurst- 
bourne in preferring horses to flowers. 

“ You won’t forget your promise of coming over some 
day to inspect your cousin’s stud, will you ? ” she added, 
turning to her host. “ As I told you, it isn’t much of a 
stud, because he isn’t a hunting man, still he has one 
or two animals that you might care to run your eye 
over, and if it won’t be troubling you too much, I should 


HIS GRACE . 


117 

like you just to try that mare of his which he says can 
carry a lady.” 

To an unprejudiced listener this sounded pretty cool, 
but Hurstbourne seemed to think it all right, and de- 
clared, with a foolish air of gratification, which made me 
long to wring his neck, that he would not for the world 
allow Miss St. George to mount any animal without 
having previously ascertained that it was fit for her to 
ride. What Mr. Gascoigne may have thought must 
remain a matter of conjecture ; but when he returned to 
us he seconded the invitation which had been given in 
his name with a tolerably good grace. We should al- 
ways try to allow the devil his due, and if I can’t find 
anything else to say in favor of Paul Gascoigne, I am 
at least willing to admit that he possessed the gift of 
self-command. 

It was not until some minutes after our guests had 
departed that Lady Charles interrupted her son’s warm 
encomiums upon Miss St. George’s beauty and amia- 
bility by remarking : “ My dear Arthur, she may be 

this, that or the other ; but if she were staying in my 
house, I shouldn’t like her to make herself so much at 
home. The idea of her asking you to go over to 
Lavenham, and of that long-legged gaby submissively 
backing her up ! She hadn’t even the civility to ask 
me either ! ” 

“Oh,” answered Hurstbourne, looking a trifle dis- 
concerted, “ I am sure they would have asked you, 
mother, if they had thought you would care to go.” 

“ They / ” retorted Lady Charles, with a toss of her 
flaxen head : “ who are they , pray ? I was under the 
impression that Lavenham belonged to Paul Gascoigne. 
Not, of course, that it ought to belong to him, and not 


ii8 


HIS GRACE. 


that I should think of troubling myself to drive all that 
distance for the privilege of seeing his unpleasant face 
again and listening to his unpleasant talk. Nor, I sin- 
cerely hope, will you do so, Arthur.” 

Well, it was probably not for the sake of the priv- 
ileges mentioned that Hurstbourne intended to go 
there and did .go there. I was more than doubtful 
whether his incentive was even the totally inadequate 
one which he was pleased to confide to me later in the 
evening. 

“ I rather flatter myself that I put Master Paul’s 
nose out of joint a bit to-day,” said he, with a mis- 
chievous chuckle. “ He isn’t engaged to Miss St. 
George yet, and it’s not quite a thousand to one cer- 
tainty that he ever will be. It does that chap a lot of 
good to let him see that he isn’t absolutely invincible.” 

“ But are you so very anxious to do him good ? ” I 
ventured to inquire. “ I thought you weren’t par- 
ticularly fond of him. If you were, one might under- 
stand your sitting upon a stable-bucket and playing 
with fire. Doesn’t it strike you that, if you don’t mind 
what you’re about, you may find yourself engaged to 
Miss St. George one of these fine days ? And don’t 
you think that, in that case, Mr. Gascoigne might have 
the laugh on his side ? ” 

Hurstbourne answered, “ Oh, bosh ! ” and went out 
of the room. He has a happy knack of leaving the 
room when he can’t hit upon a rational rejoinder. 


HIS GRACE. 


” 9 


CHAPTER X. 

SOMETHING LIKE A DAY. 

Hurstbourne, as I have said, went over to Laven- 
ham in spite of his mother ; some more definite invitation 
than that which he had received in my hearing must, I 
suppose, have reached him by post. Anyhow, he went, 
and, for my part. I tried to persuade myself that it was 
just as well that he should go. Miss St. George or 
another — what did it matter ? Sooner or later my poor 
Nora was certain to be ejected from her fool’s paradise, 
and the sooner she was made to submit to that painful 
process of eviction the sooner her troubles would be 
over. I may be mistaken, but my impression is that 
nine people out of ten recover from the pangs of un- 
requited affection within a year, or, at the outside, 
eighteen months. It is true that there always remains 
the case of the tenth person to be considered, and that 
is why I was a sorrowful man in those days. Nora 
might be exceptional : nothing proved to me that she 
was not so : I could not tell how she was taking it all, 
and of course I could not ask her. Only I saw by the 
heaviness of her eyelids and the pallor of her cheeks 
that she was not getting her fair share of sleep : added 
to which, she assumed a certain hard gayety of de- 
meanor which was neither natural nor of a nature to 


120 


HIS GRACE. 


deceive anybody less obtuse than Lady Charles Gas- 
coigne. 

All the same, it appeared to deceive Hurstbourne, 
whose attention, no doubt, was otherwise occupied and 
who no longer either sought my sister’s society or looked 
as if he missed it. There was no quarrel between 
them : that little tiff on the way back from hunting of 
which mention has been made had blown over, and they 
laughed and joked together as usual when they met ; 
but they did not often meet now, except at meals, nor 
was the cover removed from the billiard-table any more. 
Hurstbourne returned from his visit to his cousin in 
high glee. 

“ What do you think ? ” said he. “ The hounds are 
to draw the Lavenham coverts on Tuesday, and Paul is 
going to give a big breakfast. He doesn’t half like it, 
and I believe he is in a blue funk because we have per- 
suaded him that it is his bounden duty to get on a horse 
for the occasion. However, as we are pretty sure not 
to find, and as he has some very sober beasts in his 
stables, there isn’t much chance of his getting chucked,” 
added Hurstbourne regretfully. 

“ Is tl^at girl a good rider ? ” inquired Lady Charles, 
with languid interest. 

“ I don’t know : I haven’t seen her in the saddle. 
But I tried that little mare of Paul’s, and an uncom- 
monly nice little mare she is. If there’s a run, Miss 
St. George ought to be able to see it ; anyhow, we’ll show 
her the way, won’t we, Miss Martyn ? ” 

“ I daresay you will, I shan’t have that privilege, 
because I shan’t be there,” answered Nora. 

“ Why not ? — what nonsense ! — what do you mean ? ” 
asked Hurstbourne almost angrily. 


HIS GRACE. 


121 


“ Well, I mean, for one thing, that I don’t see the 
fun of fox-hunting without a fox, and for another thing, 
that I would rather not be preached at again by Lady 
Deverell if I could help it. Thirdly and lastly, I should 
perfer to stay at home. There’s no use in arguing 
with a person who says she would prefer to stay at 
home.” 

“ I also will stay at home,” observed Lady Charles, 
with a laugh and a yawn. “ If Mr. Gascoigne wishes 
for our company, let him have the good manners to ask 
for it. And then we’ll refuse.” 

Hurstbourne grumbled a little, he could do no less. 
He said that, even if there were no foxes at Lavenham, 
there would be foxes somewhere in the neighborhood 
and that, supposing the worst came to the worst, it was 
better to be ouf in the open air than to sit over the fire 
all day, doing nothing, he should have thought. But 
he evidently was not particularly keen about Nora’s 
company, and it is superfluous to add that that sad fact 
was as obvious to her as it was to me. Much to my 
relief she did not display her true feelings more undis- 
guisedly than she had already done ; though I dare say 
she might have been painfully explicit without causing 
that foolish young man to suspect their existence. 

The end of it was that I was forced, somewhat against 
my will, to go with him and see him through. Hurst- 
bourne is one of those good, simple creatures who can’t 
enjoy anything alone and can’t understand the failure of 
other people to enjoy what affords them satisfaction. 
He must needs always have a friend at his elbow to 
whom he can impart his joys, his sorrows, his desires 
and the rest of his ephemeral emotions, and it seemed, 
for the time being, to be my destiny to fill a part which 


122 


HIS GRACE. 


would not in itself have been distasteful to me. Only, 
as sympathetic readers will readily realize, I could not, 
under all the circumstances, precisely relish the pros- 
pect of looking on at his phitanderings with Miss St. 
George. 

I am not gifted with that remarkable insight into the 
thoughts of my fellow-creatures which is boldly claimed 
by such a number of people in these days, so that I 
really don’t know whether Hurstbourne set forth with 
the intention of conquering Miss St. George’s affections, 
or only with that of making his cousin jealous ; but cer- 
tainly, when we arrived at our destination, his behavior 
was of a kind to lend support to either hypothesis. We 
found a great crowd in the dining-room at Lavenham 
and met with a cordial reception from everybody, in- 
cluding our host, who was very nicely got up in boots 
and breeches, but had wisely abstained from donning a 
pink coat. 

“ Delighted to see you, Arthur,” said he. “ I hope 
we shall be able to show you some sport, but, as you 
know, that is more the keeper’s affair than mine. All 
I can say is that I gave strict orders upon the subject 
as soon as I succeeded to the property.” 

“ Any man,” observed Colonel Corbin, who chanced 
to be standing near, “ can have both foxes and pheas- 
ants if he likes, and any keeper that I ever heard of 
will kill foxes, if he dares. It’s a mere question of 
whether he has been told that he is to interpret strict 
orders strictly or not.” 

Colonel Corbin, it was plain, entertained no sanguine 
anticipations and did not think it worth while to conceal 
his sentiments : but as lawn-meets are usually attended 
by plenty of sportsmen to whom sport is a matter of 


HIS GRACE . 


123 


secondary importance, Mr. Gascoigne was not, so far 
as I am aware, distressed by any further speeches of 
the above uncomplimentary description. He was 
extremely polite, affable and discursive : no doubt he 
wished to make himself popular, and to a certain extent 
he may have been successful. I suppose he could not, 
for the life of him, have helped being condescending ; 
otherwise he might easily have secured more friends 
than his money and his position had already earned 
for him. 

He was not, however, so bumptious on that occasion 
as was his wont : for he was palpably nervous. I saw 
him mount the big staid roan horse which had been 
brought to the door for him, I saw his groom indulge 
in a grin and a wink when his back was turned, but I 
also saw in a very few minutes that he had been taught 
to ride. If Hurstbourne expected him to go over his 
horse’s head, Hurstbourne was likely to be disap- 
pointed. But Hurstbourne was not looking at his rival, 
he was helping Miss St. George into the saddle, and for 
the next quarter of an hour or more he had no eyes for 
anybody except Miss St. George. That young lady sat 
well and handled her spirited little mare as if she knew 
what she was about : of course it remained to be seen 
whether she was really a horsewoman of Nora’s class. 
Not, to be sure, that that mattered very much : still, I 
was, I confess, mean enough to hope that she had not 
all Nora’s pluck. It was disgraceful of me to admit 
such feelings into my mind ; but I did admit them, and, 
as I have humbly owned to them, perhaps one or two 
very kind and forgiving people will refrain from con- 
demning a frail fellow-mortal. 

And now occurred an unexpected and (as I was subse- 


124 


HIS GRACE. 


quently assured) an unprecedented event. We actually 
found a fox in Lavenham Woods. There were, I be- 
lieve, certain people who affirmed but no matter ! 

The gossip of the hunting-field is only a shade less 
contemptible than that of the drawing-room, and, what- 
ever may have been the antecedents of Mr. Gascoigne’s 
unique fox, he proved a game one and gave us a rat- 
tling spin of forty minutes. It is to be regretted that 
the gentleman who had thus done his duty by the hunt 
so nobly and satisfactorily should, through some un- 
fortunate mishap or other, have been thrown out at the 
very beginning of the run. I saw T nothing of Mr. Gas- 
coigne after we got away, but, on the other hand, I saw 
a good deal of Miss St. George, who rode with skill 
and judgment, and fairly earned the brush which was 
awarded her. As much could not be said for Hurst- 
bourne. It is, or was, Hurstbourne’s habit to ride 
upon a system calculated to make the blood of all be- 
holders run cold. Nobody that I ever heard of thinks 
of disputing his courage. He has a good seat and tol- 
erably good hands ; but I firmly believe that if, at that 
time (he has reasons for behaving less insanely nowa- 
days), he had seen a seven-foot stone wall in front of 
him, he would have put his horse at it without troubling 
himself for one moment to consider whether he was 
attempting an absolute impossibility or not. In that 
part of the world stone walls are neither numerous nor 
lofty ; but we had to negotiate some rather awkward 
fences, and over one of these he managed, in his own 
words to “ come a most superior crowner.” Both he 
and his horse escaped with a shaking. He was soon in 
the saddle again, and he galloped up in time to witness 
the finish with a countenance illumined by smiles and 


HIS GRACE. 


I2 5 

adorned by two long scratches, as well as by various 
smears of mud. 

Miss St. George contemplated him with calm curi- 
osity. “ Have you insured your life ? ” I heard her 
inquire. 

And when he answered, laughing, that he had neg- 
lected that precaution, she returned : “ Do you know, 

I don’t think I would neglect it any longer, if I were 
you.” 

He seemed to accept her observation as a compli- 
ment, very likely it may have presented itself to him in 
that light ; and while we were jogging along towards 
Kingstead Gorse, he was most assiduous in his atten- 
tions to her and superlative in his praises of the manner 
in which she had hitherto acquitted herself. Riding 
close behind them I caught occasional fragments of 
their dialogue which would have convinced me, if indeed 
any convincing process had been required, that he was 
making love to Lady Deverell’s niece with the uncom- 
promising thoroughness that was wont to characterize 
every action of his. Lady DeverelPs niece appeared 
to like it, and there was no reason to suppose that Miss 
St. George’s aunt would dislike it : because, after all, a 
duke is a duke, though he may have a cousin wealthier 
than himself. As for me, it was not to be expected of 
me that I should like it : nor in truth, should I have 
liked it even if Nora had not, on an ill-starred day, come 
to take up her abode at Hurstbourne Castle : for, admi- 
rably adapted though Miss St. George was to adorn the 
station of a duchess, she did not strike me as being 
the sort of woman to render a kind-hearted, hot-tem- 
pered, matter-of-fact little man happy. 

But the great merit of fox-hunting, as of all other 


126 


HIS GRACE. 


sports and pastimes worthy to be so called, is that, 
while the excitement of it lasts, nothing else signifies 
one farthing : and there was excitement enough in our 
second run that day to content the most insatiable of 
fox-hunters. I am not going to describe that historic 
run. To begin with, I couldn’t possibly do justice to 
its incidents unless I were to ascend or descend into 
rhyme (a practice which I have abandoned) : added to 
which, I am sorry to say that I only saw a portion of it. 
However, I thoroughly enjoyed that portion of it in 
which I was privileged to take part, and a man whose 
bones are as big as mine are, knows only too well that 
he must be a Rothschild into the bargain if he wants 
his horse to stay forever. My poor old gray floundered 
into a ditch at last, and gave me to understand, after I 
had got him on his legs again, that he had shot his 
bolt. I had not spared him, as perhaps I ought to 
have done, and I was not even sure that he would be 
able to carry me home. 

One thing was beyond all question, and that was that 
homeward we must set our faces. So, after a brief 
breathing space, we started at a foot’s pace, threading 
our way through the sinuous and miry lanes, until we 
arrived at a public-house, where I thought I had better 
halt and gruel my exhausted mount. It was almost 
dark when I hoisted myself once more into the saddle 
and, catching the sound of approaching hoofs, paused 
in the hope that some other belated horseman might 
be able to inform me of the result of the day’s sport or 
at least to direct me as to the shortest way to Hurst- 
bourne Castle. 

However, it was a horsewoman, not a horseman, 
who presently showed up black against the red glow 


HIS GRACE. 


127 


of the western sky, and, as she approached, I recog- 
nized Miss St. George, who drew rein and honored me 
with a nod. 

“ I’m sure I don’t know,” she said, rather crossly, in 
answer to my first question. “ They were still running 
when I had to leave them, and they looked as if they 
meant to run until next year. Meanwhile, my mare 
has dropped lame and I haven’t the most remote idea 
of where I am. I suppose you are acquainted with the 
geography of this hideous country, aren’t you ? Per- 
haps, you wouldn’t mind telling me what point of the 
compass I ought to make for in order to reach Laven- 
ham before I die.” 

I was not in a position to furnish her with the re- 
quired instructions ; but I made inquiries of the people 
at the public-house, who were as voluble and incom- 
prehensible as rustics always are under such circum- 
stances. It was very evident that I should have to see 
her home, which was not an altogether enchanting 
prospect, seeing that it behoved me to find my own 
way home, and that that task was likely to take me all 
my time. She neither protested nor apologized when 
I proclaimed my generous intentions ; she appeared to 
think that I could do no less. That is what they gen- 
erally appear to think ; though I am quite at a loss to 
explain why they should. I concluded from certain 
observations which escaped her, after we had started, 
that she considered Hurstbourne wanting in gallantry, 
inasmuch as he had not taken more care of her, and 
this tickled me so much that it helped me to overcome 
my incipient sulkiness. As if Hurstbourne was the sort 
of man to cut himself out of a run for any woman upon 
the face of the earth. 


128 


HIS GRACE. 


“ I am sure,” said I gravely (being perhaps sure of 
the contrary), “ that he would never have left you to 
take care of yourself if he hadn’t been convinced that 
you were capable of doing that. You must try to for- 
give him ; he probably thought, as I did after seeing 
you go, that you stood in no need of a pilot.” 

“ I don’t require anybody to break my fences for 
me, if that is what you mean,” replied Miss St. George ; 
“ but I am not ashamed to confess that I can’t find my 
way instinctively about a country which I never saw 
before in my life and have no wish ever to see again.” 

She was so obviously out of temper that she rendered 
me quite cheerful, in spite of all the good reasons that 
I had for feeling depressed. 

“ I am very sorry,” said I, “ that you don’t like this 
part of the world and don’t wish to revisit it. Hurst- 
bourne will be very sorry too, and so, no doubt, will 
Mr. Gascoigne. By the way, Hurstbourne may have 
imagined that Mr. Gascoigne could escort you home, 
if he could do nothing else for you.” 

My companion made a half-turn in her saddle and 
contemplated me with a disdain which, I dare say, 
would have withered me if I could have seen it, but as 
her back was turned to what little light there was left, 
I was denied the pleasure of scrutinizing her features. 

“ From your way of speaking of him,” she said, after 
a pause, “ I suppose the duke is an intimate friend of 
yours.” 

“ I have been acquainted with him since he was a 
very small boy,” I answered. “ That accounts for the 
lack of deference and respect which seems to have 
struck you, and which would perhaps be only becoming 
in one of his present subordinates.” 


HIS GRACE. 


129 


She neither resented nor even noticed my snappish- 
ness. I was not a sufficiently important person to be 
worth snubbing ; nor, I frankly confess, did I ever suc- 
ceed in provoking Miss St. George : although, during 
my subsequent intercourse with her, I did more than 
once try my hand at that foolish and hopeless game. 

She remained silent for a few minutes, after which 
she resumed : 

“ As you know him so well, and as, according to Mr. 
Gascoigne, you are employed in managing his affairs, 
you probably know whether it is true or not that he’s 
over head and ears in debt.” 

“ What is not only probable but certain,” I observed 
in reply, “ is, that if I were in possession of that knowl- 
edge, I should not impart it to a total stranger. But 
I don’t in the least mind telling you that I know very 
little more about the matter than you do. The Duke 
of Hurstb.ourne might be in debt without my being 
aware of it ; he might also have been singularly Lucky 
in his racing ventures without having rendered any 
account of them to me.” 

“ Has he been lucky ? ” she inquired, with a touch of 
eagerness. 

“ I have said already that I don’t know. Perhaps he 
has, and perhaps he hasn’t.” 

“Well,” she remarked in musing accents, after we 
had ridden on for a short distance, “ most likely he 
hasn’t. Still, there’s no knowing : it is just possible 
that he may have a head on his shoulders, though one 
would hardly suppose so from his style of riding.” 

“You mean,” I suggested, “that his head won’t 
remain on his shoulders much longer if he continues to 
rush at his fences in that mad way.” 

9 


HIS GRACE. 


She answered quite seriously, “ It would be a diffi- 
cult thing to knock one’s head off, but it’s as easy as 
possible to fracture one’s skull or break one’s neck, and 
I should say that the duke was in a fair way to do the 
one or the other. Of course, if anything should happen 
to him, Mr. Gascoigne would succeed to the title.” 

I have never met anybody like Miss St. George : nor, 
I should imagine can there be many people quite so im- 
perturbably and cynically candid. Nora affirms that 
what puzzles me about the woman is merely her phe- 
nomenal stupidity, and that similar manifestations in a 
man would not surprise me at all. It may be so ; but 
personally I am inclined to ascribe rather to supreme 
contempt for her hearer than to density my companion’s 
open avowal (for really it amounted to nothing less ), 
that she was undecided whether to marry the Duke of 
Hurstbourne for the sake of his title or to wait a little 
longer, upon the chance of securing the title and Mr, 
Gascoigne’s wealth at one and the same time. She 
put a great many more questions to me about my patron 
and friend : she wanted to know whether he was a 
gambler ; whether he had other vices that I knew of : 
whether the legitimacy of his birth had ever been called 
in question ; what he or his mother had done to incur 
Lady Deverell’s dislike, why his father had been cut by 
the late duke, and so forth. I gave her such informa- 
tion as I thought fit, and then for my own amusement, 
endeavored to draw her out upon the subject of Mr. 
Gascoigne ; for I thought it would be interesting to hear 
her frank opinion of that gentleman. But ready as she 
was to cross-examine me, she had no notion of being 
cross-examined in her turn, and she disposed of my 
modest queries by the simple and effectual method of 


HIS GRACE. 


leaving them unanswered. In fact, she soon ceased to 
take any notice at all of me. She had, I presume, found 
out as much as she wanted to hear, or as much as she 
thought I could tell her, and for at least a couple of 
miles we rode on, side by side, in a silence broken only 
by my perplexed murmurings when we arrived at a 
sign-post and when I tried to decipher the half-effaced 
inscriptions upon it. Thick darkness fell upon us by- 
and-by. I imagined that we must be somewhere near 
Lavenham, but I was by no means sure of our where- 
abouts, so that it was a great relief to me to descry a 
man on a tired horse ahead of us and a still greater 
relief to be hailed by him in Hurstbourne’s familiar 
cheery voice. 

“ Hullo, Martyn ! is that you ? ” he called out, as soon 
as he recognized me. “ Who have you got with you ? 
Miss St. George, by Jove ! Well, and how are you both ? 
Pretty well dead-beat, like the rest of us, eh ? we have 
had something like a day, haven’t we ? ” 

“I was beginning to be afraid,” I remarked, “that 
we were in for something like a night in the saddle too. 
Do you happen to have any idea of where we are at the 
present moment ? ” 

“ Bless your soul, yes ! we’re within half a mile of 
Lavenham. I shall have to put my poor old gee into 
the stable there, and you had better do the same. I 
daresay Paul will let us have something to drive home 
in.” 

He was in such exuberant spirits and so eager to 
narrate every episode of a run which had terminated 
gloriously by a kill in the open that he took no heed of 
Miss St. George’s manifest displeasure. Yet he might 
have known that nothing in the world is more tedious 


i3 2 


HIS GRACE. 


to listen to than an accurate description of a run in 
which one has been precluded from participating : and 
if my perfunctory “ ohs ” and “ ahs ” did not convince 
him of that elementary truth, he was made aware of it 
at length in a more unequivocal manner by the lady, 
who said : 

“ Yes ; we quite understand that you have had capital 
fun. I suppose it never occurred to you that a stranger 
who didn’t happen to be as well mounted as you were 
might fail to see the joke of being abandoned to her 
own devices in a country of which she knew no more 
than she does of Central Africa.” 

,He then apologized so profusely and earnestly that, 
by the time that we had reached Lavenham and he had 
assisted Miss St. George to dismount, his lack of 
courtesy had been graciously forgiven. 

“ Only, if you want to show that you are really re- 
pentant,” said she,” you will send for what clothes you 
want and stay the night here. I don’t doubt for one 
moment that you would much rather go home : but you 
admit that you deserve some punishment, and a form 
of penance which confers some slight benefit upon 
others ought to be especially welcome to you. Words 
can’t convey any notion of the dulness of the evenings 
that I have been spending of late with my aunt and 
Mr. Gascoigne.” 

It is not impossible that, despite the fascinations of 
Miss St. George, Hurstbourne would have preferred to 
go home. He was somewhat in awe of his mother, and 
I think also he was not anxious to accept more hospi- 
tality than he could help from his cousin. But his 
scruples were vanquished when Mr. Gascoigne came 
out to meet us, and when Miss St. George said coolly : 


HIS GRACE. 


i J3 

“ I have just been telling the Duke and Mr. — er — the 
other gentleman that we can’t turn them out in the cold 
again at this hour of the night and that they had better 
dine and sleep here. There will be time for a groom 
to go over to Hurstbourne Castle and fetch their things 
before dinner, won’t there ? ” 

I don’t know whether it was Paul Gascoigne’s polite 
entreaties or his wry face that prevailed upon Hurst- 
bourne to yield : but I should imagine that in all proba- 
bility it was the latter. He hated Paul Gascoigne so 
much that I believe he could not resist any chance of 
fighting him, either with or without the gloves — which 
was not at all the spirit in which he was accustomed to 
meet an adversary. 

“ Oh, rubbish ! ** said he, when I modestly requested 
that I might be sent home with the groom : “ you must 
stop and see me through. Besides,” he whispered, as 
we ascended the staircase together, “ it’s going to be 
grand sport. That beggar is positively yellow with 
jealousy ! ” 

I said “ Take care ! ” and he answered impatiently, 
that of course he would take care. And of course there 
was not the slightest chance that he would do any such 
thing. 


HIS GRACE. 


* 3 * 


CHAPTER XI. 

b: . 

A CONGENIAL PARTY. 

Different people have different methods of express- 
ing the ire which has to be expressed somehow or other, 
but which good manners forbid them to put into lan- 
guage. Lady Deverell, when she is angry, lets off steam, 
so to speak, by blowing her nose loudly, frequently and 
unnecessarily. Now, on entering the drawing-room at 
Lavenham, arrayed in the evening garb which had 
been duly delivered to me just as the dressing-bell rang, 
I perceived that Lady Deverell was the sole occupant 
of that vast saloon, and also that she was blowing her 
nose. It was, therefore, very evident to me that I was 
going to catch it — and, sure enough, I did. 

“ Your duties,” she began, “ don’t appear to be very 
arduous. May I make so bold as to ask whether you 
do anything at all when you are at Hurstbourne Castle ? ” 

I replied that on most days of the week I did a great 
many things ; whereupon she wanted to know what 
things. 

“ Well,” I said, “ the management of the estate is in 
my hands and I keep all the accounts.” 

“ Oh, indeed ! ” she returned, with a snort. “ The 
keeping of the accounts must be very interesting 
and satisfactory work, from all that I hear, and 


HIS GRACE. 


*35 


no doubt you give your entire mind to it. Your 
labors don’t seem to prevent you from treating your- 
self to a whole holiday as often as you like, though;” 

To attempt to defend oneself against the attacks of 
an irritable old woman is, I take it, a sheer waste of 
time. Consequently, I made no reply, but listened 
patiently while I was told l in more or less plain terms, 
that I was going to the deuce, and that Lady Deverell 
was very glad my poor dear mother had been spared 
the spectacle of her son’s degradation. But of course 
it was not really with me that her ladyship was so 
wroth, and when she had whetted her teeth upon my 
blameless and defenceless character, she proceeded, as 
I knew she would, to fall upon her genuine quarry. 

“ I suppose it would be absurd,” she remarked, after 
she had said every ill-natured thing about Hurstbourne 
that she could possibly say, “ to expect good taste from 
his mother’s son ; but I do rather wonder at his having 
forced poor Mr. Gascoigne to put him up for the night 
when there wasn’t the slightest necessity for it. Gen- 
erous and liberal as Mr. Gascoigne is, he can’t have 
much friendly feeling for a man who strained every 
nerve to keep him out of Parliament, and, political 
considerations apart, the Duke of Hurstbourne is 
scarcely the sort of person whom he would have wished 
to have in his house, if he had been allowed any choice 
in the matter.” 

“ Liberality and generosity,” I replied, “ are not 
always interchangeable terms, and I would not for 
the world cast a doubt upon the liberality of so staunch 
a Conservative as Mr. Gascoigne. That he is generous 
we all know, and I feel sure that, in this instance, 
his generosity has not been misplaced. Upon my 


136 


HIS GRACE. 


honor as a gentleman, I do not believe that Hurst 
bourne will pocket the forks and spoons ; still, if, as a 
measure of precaution, Mr. Gascoigne would like to 
have him searched before we leave, I have nothing to 
urge against it. Only I hope, for the sake of my nose 
and my front teeth, that I shall not be the person told 
off to search him.” 

“ My poor young friend,” returned Lady Deverell, 
who, I was glad to see, was highly incensed by my 
rejoinder, “very few people know how to be clever, 
and every child knows how to be impertinent. If you 
can’t find anything better than that to say in defence 
of your friend, I should advise you to hold your tongue.” 

Well, at all events, I had put this arrogant and 
religious lady into a rage, and I don’t know what more 
I could have done. I was quite contented with that 
humble triumph. However, I am free to confess that 
she might have turned the tables on me and put me 
into a rage if our conversation had not, fortunately, 
been interrupted by the entrance of our host and Miss 
St. George, who had apparently met outside the door 
and who were in the midst of a temperate discussion 
as to the relative merits of hunting and shooting. 

“ Of course,” Mr. Gascoigne was saying, “ I admit 
that one of the obligations imposed upon all landed 
proprietors is to preserve foxes, and I think that, as a 
rule, they recognize this. They must give and take ; 
only what we shooting men sometimes venture to com- 
plain of is, that all the hunting men are more ready to 
take than to give. They are under the impression that 
everything and everybody ought to yield to them, and 
we can’t altogether share that impression.” 

“ How many times have your coverts been drawn 


HIS GRACE. 


*37 


this season ? ” inquired Miss St. George blandly. 

“ Once only, and that was by invitation. The draw, 
as you know, resulted in a find. I make no complaints ; 
I merely wonder what the foxhunters have to complain 
about. After this, perhaps I may be permitted to 
shoot my own pheasants.” 

Then Hurstbourne joined us and must needs put 
his oar in. Doubtless he thought his cousin was in 
the wrong, and doubtless his cousin was in the wrong ; 
but the occasion was hardly a propitious one for saying 
so, and he got the worst of the argument. Miss St. 
George, who promptly retired from the fray, looked on 
at it with — as I surmised — the calm and amused indif- 
ference of one who was aware that it was being fought 
upon a false issue. Not on account of foxes or pheas- 
ants was Hurstbourne becoming red in the face and 
Mr. Gascoigne frigidly sarcastic ; there was quite 
another bone of contention between them, and the 
bone knew that as well as I did. Possibly Lady Dev- 
erell, who continued to blow her nose noisily in the 
background, knew it too. 

I can’t tell whether Miss St. George enjoyed herself 
or not during dinner ; very likely she did. But I am 
quite sure that not one of those who sat at meat with 
her was happy. We got off the subject of sport, after 
a time, and attacked that of politics — which was scarce- 
ly a change for the better. Mr. Gascoigne chose to 
identify his guest with his late opponent and to assume 
that the former professed all the radical views enter- 
tained by the latter. Now, it was a very simple mat- 
ter to make fun of those views in a quiet, courteous 
way, and a still simpler matter to point out the absurd- 
ity of their being held by a duke. Poor Hurstbourne 


HIS GRACE. 


! 3 8 

made a fool of himself, said several things that he did 
not mean, had to confess that he had failed to see the 
logical outcome of his opinions, and was finally driven 
to appeal to one of the weaker sex for support. 

“ Look here, Miss St. George,” said he, “ I put it to 
you as a disinterested outsider: wasn’t I justified in 
expecting that a constituency which had always voted 
Liberal would go on voting Liberal even after one of 
our family had seen fit to turn his coat ? Mind you 
I’m not saying that this, that, or the other measure 
ought to be carried ; I only ask you whether it wasn’t 
fair to anticipate that the majority of the electors 
would stick to the old flag ? ” 

Miss St. George roused herself from a fit of abstrac- 
tion to say, “ Well, you see, I don’t quite know what 
the old flag was. Wasn’t it the Union Jack that Mr. 
Gascoigne kept on waving before their eyes ? ” 

This question, as it may have been intended to do, 
cast fresh fuel upon the flames, and the altercation 
which ensued certainly appeared to show that Hurst- 
bourne was one of those unpatriotic citizens who are 
prepared to lend their aid to the gradual disintegration 
of the Empire. Yet, though he got the worst of the 
encounter, he might, if he had cared to do so, have 
plumed himself upon the achievement of a success 
somewhat akin to that which I myself had accom- 
plished against Lady Deverell ; for he had obviously 
made his cousin angry. It took a good deal to make 
Paul Gascoigne angry, and I don’t think that any 
amount of political heterodoxy on Hurstbourne’s part 
would have produced that effect upon him. Thus it 
became rather amusing to watch the demeanor of 
Miss St. George, arbitra pugnce, and to note the impar- 


HIS GRACE . 


139 

tiality with which she alternately soothed and urged 
on the combatants. 

Still this was not so amusing but that I was sin- 
cerely glad to see her and her aunt leave the room. 
Rows are always to be deprecated, and they are more 
especially so when one’s own side seems likely to come 
out of them with loss of breath and loss of glory. We 
cooled down and grew very distant and polite after the 
ladies had quitted us ; nor was it long before we fol- 
lowed them. I don’t know what took place then be- 
tween the rivals and the rather unworthy subject of 
their rivalry. Whatever Nora may say, I don’t believe 
that Miss St. George was a stupid woman, and I have 
the best of reasons for conjecturing that she spent a 
pleasant evening. However, I can’t uphold my con- 
jecture by any report of personal observations ; for no 
sooner had I entered the drawing-room than I was im- 
peratively beckoned to seat myself beside Lady Dev- 
erell, who, it appeared, had not yet done with me. 

“ You were pleased to rebuke me before dinner,” 
she began. “You need not apologize for it.” 

“ I wasn’t going to apologize,” I interpolated meekly. 

“ You would have done so if I had given you to under- 
stand that I expected it, and you would have been 
right to do so, because you certainly expressed your- 
self in an uncalled-for and impertinent manner. But I 
don’t ask you to apologize, nor do I quarrel with you 
for standing up for your friend. Whether you have 
chosen your friend wisely time will show. I may be 
allowed to have my own opinion as to that. But what 
I was going to say to you when we were interrupted, and 
what my conscience compels me to say to you now, is 
that you have made a very great — I fear I might almost 


140 


HIS GRACE. 


call it an irreparable — mistake in permitting your friend 
to provide a home for your sister. As you know, I 
was strongly opposed to the arrangement ; it was per- 
sisted in, notwithstanding my protests, and since I have 
been here I have heard more than enough to convince 
me that exactly what I foresaw has happened. Your 
sister and the duke have been seen together at all 
hours of the day, without even so poor a chaperon as 
Lady Charles Gascoigne to look after them. People 
have begun to talk ; and I leave it to you to judge who 
is likely to be the chief sufferer from such gossip.” 

This was not pleasant hearing for me ; but I forced 
out a laugh, and said the sort of thing which, I suppose, 
men always do say under similar circumstances. We 
know — or, at any rate, most of us do — that gossip is 
not a thing which any girl can afford to treat with con- 
tempt ; but we take up high ground when our sisters 
are attacked, partly because we are infuriated with the 
malicious women who attack them, and partly because 
we can’t see any other dignified attitude to adopt. 

“That is all very fine,” observed Lady Deverell, 
when I had finished ; “ but you must bear in mind that 
you are not the only person, nor even the principal 
person interested in protecting Nora from slander — for 
I am quite ready to admit that it is probably slander. 
You owe some account of your actions, and she owes 
an account of hers, to Mr. Burgess, who would be both 
grieved and displeased if he were to hear the things 
that I have heard during the last few days.” 

“Well, suppose you impart them to him,” I replied, 
subduing a strong inclination to break faith with Nora 
by announcing that she no longer owed anything at all 
to Mr. Burgess. “ Then he will know the worst, and 


HIS GRACE. 


I 


we must endeavor between us to bear the brunt of his 
grief and displeasure.” 

Lady Deverell shook her head. “ We are approach- 
ing the season of Lent,” she remarked. “ Have you 
in your neighborhood any properly qualified priest to 
whom Nora can make her confession, as we all ought 
to do before Ash Wednesday ? ” 

“ We are without that privilege,” I answered ; " we 
have no priest within hail of Hurstbourne Castle only 
an old-fashioned country parson, who would be fright- 
ened out of his five wits if any lady offered to confess 
her sins to him. Let us trust that Nora has not a great 
many deadly sins to avow. If she has, I can’t see any- 
thing for it but that Mr. Burgess should undertake a 
journey to the north and give or refuse absolution, as 
may seem expedient to him.” 

Lady Deverell, whose eyes were at that moment fixed 
sternly upon the little group at. the other end of the 
room, cannot, I presume, have heard what I said ; for 
she rejoined quite irrelevantly, “ Well, it makes no dif- 
ference to me, because we shall leave the day after 
to-morrow. Don’t say that I didn’t warn you, that’s 
all.” 

I assured her that I would bring no such unjust ac- 
cusation against her, and, further, that I should not in 
the least mind if her sense of duty should lead her to 
convey a warning to Mr. Burgess into the bargain. I 
did not understand at the time why it was that she tried 
to look indignant, yet could not altogether banish an 
incipient grin of satisfaction from her hard-featured 
countenance. Afterwards I realized that she might 
not be unwilling to do what she could towards promot- 
ing a flirtation between the Duke of Hurstbourne and 


142 


HIS GRACE. 


any woman in the world, save her niece ; but I should 
have been infinitely more clever than I have any pre- 
tension to be if I had arrived at that conclusion with- 
out feminine aid. How was I to guess that she hated 
Hurstbourne as only a deeply religious lady can hate, 
or that his coronet had none of the charms in her eyes 
which coronets of that exalted description almost in- 
variably possess for her sex ? As little could I divine 
that she was anxious both to wash her hands of respon- 
sibility and to obtain a plausible excuse for declaring 
that 1 was insanely desirous of placing those straw- 
berry-leaves upon Nora’s brow. 

We all went early to bed ; for, although Mr. Gas- 
coigne’s cigars were excellent, his personal attractions 
were scarcely strong enough to detain two weary men 
in the smoking-room for more than half an hour, and 
Hurstbourne was too sleepy to go on sparring with him, 
sleep having been murdered in my case by the distress- 
ing reflections with which that old woman had provided 
me, and which indeed kept me tossing to and fro half 
the night through. 

It does not seem probable that Miss St. George’s 
slumbers were seriously interfered with by any out- 
spoken remonstrances which may have reached her 
from the same quarter ; though it is likely enough that 
she was remonstrated with before her aunt wished her 
<good-night, and when the next morning reunited our 
congenial party at the breakfast-table I thought I could 
perceive in the young lady’s face and manner symptoms 
of something of the kind having taken place. But per- 
haps, like many better persons than herself, she was 
apt to be a little silent and sulky at breakfast time. 

Possibly she may have been neither the one nor the 


HIS GRACE. 


143 


other when we had finished our meal and when she 
managed to give her chaperon the slip. At least 
when I say that she gave her chaperon the slip, I 
only mean that she did a thing which her chaperon 
had not courage or presence of mind enough to forbid, 
not that she stooped to any subterfuge. She an- 
nounced without the slightest hesitation that she was 
going round to the stables with the duke, who wanted 
to have a look at his horses ; and, as Mr. Gascoigne 
presently saw fit to follow the couple, it fell to my lot 
to receive a second homily from Lady Deverell, with 
which, since it was in all essentials identical with that 
already reported, I need not weary the reader. I my- 
self was not a little wearied by it, and was more than a 
little rejoiced when at length Hurstbourne re-appeared 
to give me my marching orders. 

“ We may as well ride home, Martyn,” said he. “ The 
gray is all right again, and I’ll send for our traps in the 
course of the afternoon. All things considered, we may 
congratulate ourselves upon not having paid too long 
a price for a real good day’s sport.” 

“ That is most flattering to us,” remarked Miss St. 
George, who had accompanied him into the room. 
“ Tedious as you have naturally found us, you feel that 
a good run has compensated you for the nuisance of 
having had to submit to us for one evening. Luckily, 
we shan’t have the chance of putting your forbearance 
to the test a second time.” 

“ I only wish there were a chance of your testing it 
every evening for the next six months ! ” responded 
Hurstbourne with fervor. 

Whereupon Miss St. George laughed and observed 
that the forbearance of other people might be tried 


144 


HIS GRACE. 


rather too highly if that polite aspiration could be ful 
filled. 

The forbearance of Mr. Gascoigne had, I think, been 
already strained about as far as it would go. He did 
not accompany us to the door; he merely shook hands 
with us and said, rather coldly, that he hoped we would 
do him the favor to make use of his stables at any 
future time that might be convenient to us. He was 
afraid that he should not be able to offer us house- 
room again, because his Parliamentary duties would 
compel him to go up to London shortly. 

Lady Deverell gave Hurstbourne the tips of her 
fingers and was kind enough to place the whole five of 
them within my grasp, saying, “ Good-bye. My love to 
your sister. You had better tell her what I have told 
you. If she won’t listen, so much the worse for 
her.” 

Miss St. George did not appear to see me until I was 
upon the point of vanishing from her view, when she 
honored me with a vague bow; but she whispered 
something which I did not catch to Hurstbourne, on 
taking leave of him. 

“ What did that old pussy-cat mean ? ” inquired the 
latter, after we had mounted our horses and were 
riding down the avenue. “ What was it that she told 
you?” 

“ Nothing of any consequence,” I replied. “ As far 
as I can recollect, it didn’t amount to much more than 
that I was a bad lot, and that you were another, and 
that Nora ought not to be living with people of our 
shady character.” 

I thought that would stimulate his curiosity and 
provoke him to put further queries which I should not 


HIS GRACE. 


*45 


have been reluctant to answer, with a due regard to 
discretion ; but it did not produce that effect upon 
him. He only laughed and said : “ Oh, that was all, 

eh ? ” 

We had advanced some little distance on our way 
without exchanging another word when he turned upon 
me with a sudden and unexpected question. 

“I say, Martyn, did you ever hear what was the 
cause of my old uncle ’s quarrel with my father ? ” 

I shook my head. “ I never heard anything about 
it ; I never was in the way of hearing. Was there any 
cause, except incompatibility of temper ? ” 

“ That’s just what I don’t know, and what I have 
often wondered. I can’t ask my mother, because she 
gets distressed and begins to cry and all that, you know, 
if the subject is introduced. I thought perhaps Lady 
Deverell might have told you something. Whatever it 
was, I suspect that beggar Paul knows a good deal 
about it.” He added, with a short laugh, after pausing 
for a minute or two : “ Well, I’ve put our cool friend 

Paul’s back up, anyhow. Do you know that, when we 
were up at the stables just now, he dragged me off, 
upon the pretence of showing me a couple of colts, to 
ask me in plain language what my intentions were with 
regard to Miss St. George ! ” 

“ Oh, he did, did he ? ” said I. “ And what answer 
did you make ? ” 

“ The only answer that could be made ; I said I would 
thank him to mind his own business. Then he had the 
cheek to tell me that I should consult my own interests 
best by keeping friends with him ; that he felt more or 
less responsible for Miss St. George while she was his 
guest, and that, if I cbos^ to defy him, he might be 


146 


HIS GRACE . 


compelled to make things uncomfortable for mo 
Naturally, I defied him then and there, after which he 
began hinting that there was some disgraceful mystery 
connected with my father which he could disclose if he 
were driven to it. It is true that he retracted when I — 
well, when I pointed out to him what could happen 
unless he either spoke out or apologized ; but I don’t 
think I really misunderstood him, though he assured 
me that I had.” 

Now I certainly had heard that the late Lord 
Charles Gascoigne had been an old rip, and it seemed 
quite on the cards that he might have done something 
disgraceful in the days of his youth ; but there was no 
particular use in saying that. I therefore only said 
what I believed to be true : that our late host was not 
precisely a hero and that he was evidently jealous. 
People who are suffering from the pangs of jealousy 
and who are not dowered with a chivalrous nature fre- 
quently, I observe, threaten more than they can per- 
form. Mr. Gascoigne’s empty words were of no im- 
portance, except in so far as they served to throw some 
additional light upon his individuality. 

Hurstbourne accepted this explanation ; it is his way 
to accept any explanation which relieves his honest 
mind of harassing misgivings, he shook his shoulders 
and chuckled and said : “ The idea of that chicken- 
hearted fellow flattering himself that a girl of Miss St. 
George’s pluck would look twice at him ! He does lay 
that flattering unction to his soul, though.” 

“ Why,” I asked, “ shouldn’t a plucky girl marry a 
chicken-hearted man ? — always supposing that he is rich 
enough. I can’t imagine a more courageous act, and, 
saving your presence, I shouldn’t be a bit surprised if 


HIS GRACE . 


47 


Miss St. George were to prove herself capable of it.” 

“ That’s what we shall see, if we live long enough,” 
returned Hurstbourne, gathering up his reins. “ Now 
I don’t believe it would do these horses any harm to 
have a gentle canter across the grass. ” 


CHAPTER XII. 


AN ASSIGNATION. 

We did not, on our return home, meet with quite the 
warmest of welcomes, and I suppose Hurstbourne’s 
conscience and prescience must have alike disquieted 
him ; for, as we drew near the huge edifice of which he 
was sole lord and master, he began to assume some- 
thing of the air of a schoolboy who has broken out of 
bounds. 

“ I expect my mother won’t be over and above 
pleased at our having spent the night at Lavenham,” 
he remarked in a confidential tone, while we were dis- 
mounting ; “ she’ll be sure to say that we had no busi- 
ness to accept hospitality from Paul. But we really 
couldn’t help it, could we ? ” 

“/ couldn’t help it,” I replied rather ungenerously; 
“ I don’t know so much about you.” 

“ My dear fellow, neither you nor I could have rid- 
den another half mile without gross cruelty to animals. 
Besides, I thought we had all agreed that Paul was to 
be treated with friendliness. Goodness knows it’s no 
pleasure to me to eat the fellow’s food or to drink his 
wine.” 

The above feeble excuses were all that he had to 


HIS GRACE . 


149 


offer to Lady Charles, who, as he had anticipated, took 
him to task with some severity, for having sojourned 
in the tents of the ungodly. “ I can’t see what was to 
prevent Paul Gascoigne from sending you home, con- 
sidering that he was able to send a dog-cart to fetch 
your clothes,” she pertinently remarked. “ Why on 
earth did he want you to stay with him ? ” 

“ Oh, if you come to that, I don’t know that he did 
so very particularly want it,” replied that foolish Hurst- 
bourne, thereby of course answering all the questions 
which his mother had not put. 

Lady Charles grunted and looked wise. Afterwards 
she condescended to cross-examine me ; though I think 
that she did not stoop so far without a preliminary 
struggle between her pardonable curiosity and her sense 
of what was due to the exalted station in which Provi- 
dence had placed her. I did not tell her a great deal 
about Miss St. George, because, as I was able to as- 
sure her with perfect sincerity, I knew very little about 
that supercilious young lady ; but whether I had spoken 
or whether I had held my tongue, she would soon have 
known as much as I did. We could not find Miss St. 
George in any of the social books of reference to which 
we had recourse ; but it stood to reason that if she was 
Lady Deverell’s niece, she must be well-born, so that 
the chief question appeared to be whether she was 
physically and mentally fitted to carry on the illustri- 
ous line of the Gascoignes. That, Lady Charles de- 
clared was really the sole point which concerned her. 
Arthur must choose for himself and she would not 
dream of opposing his choice unless it should be a 
manifestly unwise one. All the same, I don’t think she 
was free from maternal jealousy, and I don’t think she 


HIS GRACE. 


i5° 

was displeased when I confessed that Miss St. George 
had failed to secure my personal admiration. 

“ Of course,” said she, with the air of worldly wis- 
dom which she was fond of assuming and which always 
seemed to me rather pathetic, considering what a goose 
the poor woman really was, “ of course the girl is try- 
ing to catch him. Unfortunately that is what they all 
try to do, and there is no help for it. Still it doesn’t 
follow that she may not make as good a wife as another. 
I must manage to see her somehow and have a talk 
with her.” 

I suppose it was rather stupid of me to observe that 
even if Miss St. George should not succeed in espous- 
ing the head of the family, the honor of having 
brought future generations of Gascoignes into the world 
might still be hers ; for I conscientiously believed the 
match to be an undesirable one, and I ought to have 
done what I could towards imbuing Lady Charles with 
my sentiments. But the moment that she realized the 
rivalry which existed between her son and her nephew 
she took a side ; and naturally it was the wrong side. 
Without admitting this in so many words, she neverthe- 
less made it plain to a not very acute bystander, and I 
perceived, to my regret, that Hurstbourne was not 
going to be scolded or thwarted any more. 

As for me, I received a wholly unmerited scolding 
from Nora, who chose to take it for granted that I had 
talked her over with Lady Deverell, and who, when I 
could not deny that she and her actions had been made 
the subject of some discussion, said it was rather un- 
fair to discuss her behind her back. She was slightly 
mollified on hearing that I had not divulged her inten- 
tion of jilting Mr. Burgess ; but I did not deem the 


HIS GRACE. 


I 5 I 

occasion an appropriate one for stating that, in my 
opinion, that intention ought not any longer to be kept 
secret. She did not mention Miss St. George ; nor did 
I. Alas ! she was likely to hear all that she wanted 
to hear, and perhaps a little more, about Miss St. 
George before she was much older. 

I had work to do both in the afternoon and evening, 
which was a blessing for me, as indeed work always is 
for everybody. The unemployed members of the house- 
hold were probably discontented — at any rate, they 
seemed to be rather bored and rather cross when I saw 
them — but what could I do to help them ? Trouble 
was assuredly in store for two, if not all four of us ; 
still it was out of my power to avert that, and, luckily 
for me, it was also out of my power to brood over the 
future, except during an occasional spare five minutes. 

Dukes, like humbler mortals, have work to do, and 
their work, generally speaking, is not of a very inter- 
esting kind. Hurstbourne was disagreeably reminded 
of this on the following morning when the post brought 
him a request from the mayor of a certain manufactur- 
ing town, situated some twenty or thirty miles north of 
us, that he would be pleased to open the public library 
which was about to be established in that prosperous 
borough. Another magnate had consented to perform 
that pleasing duty, but the other magnate was in bed 
with a dreadful bad cold, and his Worship appealed to 
his Grace’s well-known kindness of heart to come over, 
at short notice, and to shed the requisite light of aris- 
tocratic patronage upon the proceedings. 

“ I’ll see them all jolly well hanged first ! ” was 
Hurstbourne’s first exclamation as he threw the docu- 
ment down. “ What the dickens do I know about 


* 5 2 


HIS GRACE. 


books and libraries ? And what sort of a speech do 
they expect me to make, I wonder ! I’ll tell you what 
I’ll do : I’ll say I’m very sorry I can’t go, because — 
because I’ve got a bone in my leg ; but that I’m sure 
my cousin Mr. Paul Gascoigne, M. P., will be delighted 
to represent me on the auspicious occasion. How 
would that answer ? ” 

Lady Charles didn’t think it would answer at all. 
Lady Charles liked ceremonies and could not approve 
of any plan which would have the effect of thrusting 
Mr. Paul Gascoigne, M. P., into a position of undue 
prominence. She said : “ My dear boy, I know it is a 
nuisance, but we shall make ourselves unpopular if we 
shirk these nuisances, and Mr. Martyn will write out 
your speech for you.” 

Mr. Martyn said “ thank you very much ; ” and Hurst- 
bourne, with a growl, went on to peruse the remainder 
of his correspondence. 

When there are women about, one ought to have one’s 
letters brought up to one’s bedroom in the morning. I 
don’t suppose there is very much good in my saying 
this ; still, should these words chance to meet the eye 
of any member of my sex who may be conscious of suf- 
ficient strength of mind to act upon them, I feel sure 
that he will live to thank me. What the eye does not 
see the heart does not grieve over, and the heart of 
every woman must needs be grieved if she be not in- 
formed of the contents of a letter, the origin of which 
has been revealed to her by the stamped address upon 
the flap of the envelope. Now, Lady Charles had been 
the first to enter the dining-room, while I had been the 
second. Consequently we were both aware that there 
was a letter from Lavenham for Hurstbourne and that 


HIS GRACE. 


!53 


it was directed in a feminine hand. Lady Charles had 
shown it to me, inquiring whether the handwriting was 
Lady Deverell’s, and I had replied that it was not. 
The inference was obvious. 

So we were in a position to form our own conclusions 
when Hurstbourne, after reading that letter, said, “ Let’s 
see ; what day is it that they want me to open their 
beastly library ? Oh, Thursday. H’m ! — well, I sup- 
pose I had better swallow the pill and go. Compose 
a suitable speech for me, Martyn, will you, like a good 
chap ? Chuck in a good lot of classical allusions and 
tags of poetry and all that, you know. If one is to do 
the thing at all, one may as well do it properly.” 

I said I would do my best. I assumed, and so, no 
doubt, did Lady Charles, that Miss St. George was to 
be present at the projected ceremony ; but that we 
were both mistaken seemed to be proved by Hurst- 
bourne’s reply to the remark which his mother could 
not resist making, after an interval of expectation : — 

“ You have heard from Lavenham, I see. What 
has Paul Gascoigne got to say to you ? ” 

“ Oh, my letter wasn’t from him,” answered Hurst- 
bourne, with a somewhat exaggerated air of indiffer- 
ence ; “ it was from Miss St. George. She writes about 
a dog that I promised that I would try to get for her. 
She and her aunt are going south in a day or two ; so 
I’m afraid I shan’t be able to execute the commission 
before they start.” 

All the same, he did contrive to execute it, and on 
the following Thursday we took a very handsome and 
well-bred little Halifax terrier to the station with us. 
In the interim I had composed a speech for my noble 
patron, which I flatter myself was really brilliant and 


*54 


HIS GRACE . 


scholarly, and I had not only compelled him to learn 
it off by heart, but had made him spout it out to me 
several times, with appropriate emphasis and gesticu- 
lation. He acquitted himself, upon the whole, very 
fairly well, and I don’t know what Nora, who attended 
one of our rehearsals, can have meant by saying that 
such a harangue, coming from the lips of the Duke of 
Hurstbourne, would have sounded quite as natural, 
and even more impressive, if I had put it into blank 
verse. The truth, I suppose is, that my poor Nora 
was feeling sore and savage ; and everybody, I am 
sure, will agree with me, that the very last weapon 
which a woman in that sad plight should attempt to 
wield is irony. 

Well, Heaven knows that I bore no malice ; nor did 
Hurstbourne (which was the worst of it), and the whole 
four of us drove over to Lavenham Road in our best 
clothes, and an open carriage, and spirits which were 
at least superficially excellent. The terrier skirmished 
about over our knees, and, as his antics gave us some- 
thing to talk about, he was a welcome addition to the 
party. It was understood, though I don’t think any 
actual statement had been made to that effect, that he 
was to be dispatched to London by rail ; still I may 
safely say that it was no great surprise to any of us to 
recognize Mr. Gascoigne’s carriage outside the station, 
or to encounter Lady Deverell and Miss St. George on 
the platform. For my own part, I confess that I was 
momentarily surprised on learning that the ladies were 
not bound for the same destination as ourselves, and 
that our meeting with them was a mere coincidence, 
due to the circumstance that the northward and south- 
ward expresses happened to pass through Lavenham 


HIS GRACE. 


I 5 5 


Roads within a few minutes of each other. I should 
have been more than momentarily surprised if I had 
believed in the coincidence, but of course I perceived 
at once that what I was looking on at was neither more 
nor less than an assignation. Therefore, after taking 
off my hat, and grinning, and saying a few words to 
which nobody listened, I thought the best thing I could 
do was to conduct Nora across the line to the down 
platform, leaving Miss St. George to lavish endear- 
ments upon her new pet, and Lady Charles to exchange 
bitter-sweet amenities with the other old woman. 

Hurstbourne and Lady Charles joined us by-and-by. 
They were just in time to step into the saloon carriage 
which had been ordered for us — nothing, I am sure, 
would have induced Lady Charles to travel in an ordi- 
nary first-class compartment, now that she was in some 
sort a dowager duchess — and, if one of them was not 
contented with the result of the interview which had 
just come to an end, the other evidently was. 

Hurstbourne scarcely pretended that he had met 
Miss St. George by accident ; he only said that he was 
glad she liked the dog, and that he believed he had 
secured as good a specimen of the class for her as there 
was in the market. Lady Charles was a trifle flushed 
and out of breath ; she was, in truth, no match for 
Lady Deverell, being a simple soul, and having a very 
modest opinion of herself, notwithstanding the respect 
that she entertained for her son’s rank. 

The perusal of the morning papers prevented us from 
interchanging many remarks during our brief transit, 
and, on arriving at the end of it, we were received with all 
the honor and pomp which we were entitled to expect. 

Readers would probably not thank me were I to 


HIS GRACE. 


* 5 6 

describe at full length a ceremony of which most of 
them must have only too often witnessed the parallel. 
It was a ceremony like other such ceremonies, and it 
was marred by no hitch, unless you could count as 
such Hurstbourne’s unintentional ascription of an 
apothegm to Marcus Aurelius, which should by rights 
have been placed to the credit of a later wearer of the 
purple. After all, it was near enough for all practical 
purposes, and I don’t doubt that, when I subsequently 
took the liberty of pointing out his slip to him, he was 
amply justified in retorting that nobody knew the dif- 
ference between one of those old buffers and another. 
Having discharged our duties to the public satisfac- 
tion, we were entertained at a truly magnificent lunch- 
eon by the Mayor; after which somebody presented 
Lady Charles with a bouquet, and there was, as a 
matter of course, more speechifying. I had not coached 
Hurstbourne for a second oration, so that he used his 
own words, and achieved a success far greater than I 
could have secured for him with my carefully rounded 
periods. He was not very discreet. He dragged in 
politics, which he ought not to have done ; he had 
something to say about the preservation of foxes, which 
was not altogether appropriate to the occasion, and his 
style was almost too colloquial to be reported verbatim 
in the local newspapers ; but he won the sympathy of 
his hearers, who cheered him to the echo. 

“ His Grace,” Lady Charles remarked to me, as we 
rose from the table, “ thoroughly understands the art 
of dealing with his inferiors.” She added — in case my 
mother-wit should not have enabled me to discover as 
much — that that was a most important art to have 
mastered in these democratic days. 


HIS GRACE. 


1 S7 


The art of dealing with his equals may perhaps not 
have been one with the intricacies of which his Grace 
was equally familiar ; or possibly I may be over-pre- 
sumptuous in claiming a place for myself and my sister 
amongst his equals. Either way, I don’t think that he 
displayed conspicuous tact by holding forth to Nora, 
during our return journey, upon the beauty, the talents 
and the general distinction of Miss St. George. Nor, 
to be quite impartial, do I think that it was wise on 
Nora’s part to vie with him in extolling the merits of a 
lady whom she scarcely knew and whom it was obvious 
to the meanest capacity that she detested. Lady 
Charles was compelled at length to take the part of the 
absent by remarking : 

“ Well, she is a handsome girl, but, if you come to 
that, there are plenty of other handsome girls about. 
I don’t see what she has done that you should try to 
make her out talented as well.” 

Nora, as I have intimated above, did not really so 
consider her; but, for my own part, I thought Miss 
St. George had played her cards tolerably skilfully, 
and I was confirmed in my opinion by Hurstbourne’s 
amazing assertion that she was, at all events, “ too 
talented by long chalks for a useless duffer like that 
fellow Paul.” Mr. Paul Gascoigne may have been a 
useless duffer ; but I was afraid I knew another indi- 
vidual whom the description fitted equally well and who 
was in quite as great danger of being made a fool of. 

Well, if the poor dear fellow was a fool already, 
without need of anybody’s intervention, and if he 
couldn’t see what was being made as plain for him as 
plain could be, so much the better ! I took comfort 
from that thought while my sister was betraying her 


HIS GRACE . 


158 

secret over and over again and escaping detection. 
After all, I should have hated Hurstbourne if he had 
been vain enough to detect it, and I was not half as 
much provoked with him as I was with her. I have 
often noticed — and I daresay other people may have 
noticed the same thing, though to the best of my belief 
they haven’t often said so — that women, who are so 
infinitely more acute than we are, are nevertheless far 
worse hands at keeping their own counsel under 
certain circumstances. They always adopt the same 
transparent system of tactics, and the strange part of 
it is that they don’t always fail in misleading the person 
whom it is their wish to mislead. As for the bystanders, 
it is impossible that they should be misled, unless they 
happen to be as placidly dense as good Lady Charles 
Gascoigne, and one can’t safely count upon meeting 
with a large number of Lady Charles Gascoignes. 

For all that, I could see that Hurstbourne did not 
altogether like my sister’s ready acquiescence in his 
eulogies of the girl who (as she doubtless imagined) 
had supplanted her. He was probably conscious of 
her insincerity, though he could not understand why 
she should be insincere — which naturally irritated him. 
I need scarcely say that I was upon tenterhooks the 
whole time, fearing that he should be enlightened by 
some unguarded utterance ; and a very great joy and 
relief it was to me to hear him announce all of a sudden 
that he was going off to Leicestershire at last to finish 
the season. 

“ It’s rather ridiculous to hire a house and stables at 
Milton for the winter and never use them,” he explained 
half apologetically ; though indeed there was not the 
slightest reason to apologize. 


HIS GRACE . 


J 59 


I concurred promptly and cordially in his sentiments, 
as did also the ladies, and I believe that all three of 
us inquired at one and the same moment when he 
proposed to start. He did not seem to be in the least 
affronted by our alacrity, but answered : 

“ Well, there isn’t much time to be lost, and if to- 
morrow won’t be too soon for you, mother, I’ll just fire 
off a telegram to tell them that they may expect us and 
I’ll see about arranging for the removal of the horses.” 

“ So we are going to get rid of those good people at 
last ; how glad you must be ! ” I remarked subsequently 
to Nora, and perhaps it was not a very kind speech to 
make, though, as all the world knows, cruelty is some- 
times kinder than kindness. 

She looked me full in the face and replied com- 
posedly : “ I am not glad at all ; I am very sorry. 
You see, when I told you that I hoped they wouldn’t 
stay long, I didn’t know what good people they were.” 

I suppose she understood me, and I suppose she 
guessed that I understood her ; but for the moment it 
seemed expedient to say no more. If plainer language 
was to be resorted to, there would be time enough for 
that after the disturber of our peace should have de- 
parted ; for the present my chief anxiety was that she 
should maintain her self-control, which might have been 
shaken, had I forced her into making the most humil- 
iating avowal that a woman can make. 

It came within the range of my duty to extort a 
humiliating avowal from Hurstbourne that evening. 
I had to tell him that, unless I were made more fully 
acquainted with the state of his affairs than I had 
hitherto been, it would be impossible for me to frame 
my annual budget upon anything like sound financial 


i6o 


HIS GRACE. 


principles, and, after a good deal of humming and haw- 
ing, he brought himself to the point of making sundry 
revelations which caused my jaw to drop. I had been 
pretty sure that some such revelations were in store 
for me ; but I had not imagined that things were quite 
so bad as they appeared to be, and it was absolutely 
necessary to warn him that he could not go on at that 
rate much longer without being quite unequivocally 
and decisively ruined. 

He was a little impressed by the stern rebuke which 
I thought fit to address to him ; but only a little. 

“ Oh, that’ll be all right,” he concluded by saying ; 
“ don’t you worry your sober old head about it. 
Everybody is more or less in debt, and, so long as 
these rascals get the exorbitant interest that they de- 
mand, it won’t pay them to ruin me, you may be sure. 
Besides, I’m going to be awfully economical. Besides 
that again, I’m going to win a pot of money over the 
spring handicaps. Why, my dear, good fellow, if noth- 
ing else would keep me from going to smash, I should 
be kept from it by the thought of Paul Gascoigne’s 
triumph in my discomfiture.” 

“ It would be hard to discomfit him and easy to dis- 
comfit you,” I returned, with a sigh ; “ but I suppose 
you are bent upon attempting the more difficult enter- 
prise, and there isn’t much use in cautioning you that 
you are almost certain to fail. If you would reflect 
connectedly for a matter of five short minutes, you 
would see that the game isn’t worth the candle ; only 
of course you won’t reflect.” 

I can’t think why people are so apt to laugh at me 
when nothing has been more remote from my intentions 
than to be funny ; but Hurstbourne has always acted 


HIS GRACE. 


i6t 

in that way, and he acted in that way now. He pro- 
ceeded to throw a couple of sofa cushions at my head, 
and so effected his escape. 

“ The next thing,” said I aloud, when he had deserted 
me, “ will be that he will engage himself to Miss St. 
George, which will, indeed, be an economical measure ! 
It’s a poor consolation to know that she will indubitably 
throw him over as soon as she discovers that he has 
very little more than his title to offer her.” 

n 


HIS GRACE. 


It>2 


CHAPTER XIII. 

THE MAGNANIMITY OF MR. BURGESS. 

Hurstbourne and his mother left on the following 
morning. They were both of them most cordial and 
friendly in their manner of bidding us farewell, and a 
good deal was said about my promise that I would 
entrust Nora to Lady Charles’s care during the coming 
London season ; but I need not say that I had no in- 
tention of parting with my sister ; nor, as I could plainly 
perceive, in spite of her apparent acquiescence, had she 
any idea of profiting by the glittering opportunity offered 
to her. They drove off at last, and, I dare say, forgot 
our existence before they reached the station ; and I am 
free to confess that the Castle seemed very big and 
empty and dreary without them. 

“ Rien n'est changl ,” Louis XVIII. is reported to have 
said, when he was restored to his loving subjects, “ iln'y 
a qu'un Franfais de plus ; ” and so it was with us and 
with our life. Nothing was changed; there was only 
one person (for the other hardly counted) the less ; but 
units, of course, often stand for more than thousands, 
and that is why it is difficult to believe that Louis le 
Desire , who was no fool, can ever have uttered so silly 
a speech as that ascribed to him under the guise of an 
epigram. As for my sister and myself, we tried to pre- 
tend that we enjoyed being once more alone, and that 


HIS GRACE. 


163 

we were going to resume the ways and habits which had 
sufficed for our contentment a short time before ; but I 
don’t think we kept up the pretence particularly well. 
I was always half hoping, half fearing that she would 
confide in me, while she, very likely, thought my man- 
ner dry and unsympathetic. It could not well be other- 
wise, now that we shared a secret which neither of us 
chose to allude to in words. On the third day I en- 
countered Nora, just before luncheon, in the garden, 
whither I had betaken myself for a breath of fresh air, 
and I forget how it was that we began to speak of Lady 
Deverell. 

“ Did she say anything to you about Mr. Burgess ? ” 
Nora asked. 

“ Well, yes,” I answered ; “ she said something about 
him. I should have been glad to tell her that you were 
no longer engaged to him ; but, of course, I couldn’t 
do that without your permission.” 

“ I suppose she said I had treated him badly, didn’t 
she ? ” 

“ I believe that was the gist of her remarks. Any- 
how, she didn’t think you were leading the sort of life 
that a future country parson’s wife ought to lead. She 
also had the kindness to inform me that people were 
chattering about your having taken up your residence 
here as the guest of a bachelor — which was sufficiently 
ridiculous, considering the rank of the bachelor in 
question.” 

“ Utterly ridiculous,” agreed Nora, with only a slight 
change of color. “ Still she was quite right in accusing 
me of having behaved badly to Mr. Burgess ; I wish 
with all my heart that I could have behaved better to 
him! But I couldn’t.” 


164 


HIS GRACE. 


“ Then why not tell him so and have done with it ? ” 
I asked. 

“ Yes, I shall have to tell him so ; there’s no help for 
it. He isn’t a bad man, though I know you think he 
is ; and if it were in any way possible — but.it really is 
not possible ! ” 

“Never for one single moment did I suppose that it 
was,” I returned rather impatiently. “ Write to him 
to-day and get the thing over. Depend upon it, you 
can break the sad news without breaking his elderly 
heart. It isn’t as if you had inherited a comfortable 
competence, you know.” 

Nora sighed and made no reply, which caused me to 
feel that I had expressed myself too brutally ; but it 
was expecting a little too much of me to expect that, 
with all my troubles and anxieties, I should have any 
commiseration to spare for Mr. Burgess. Moreover, I 
was exasperated by the thought that my sister was 
about to break off her engagement with that old man 
not because she had no love for him (which of course 
she could not have) but because she loved somebody 
else who didn’t care a straw for her. 

“ Ah, if only I had inherited a comfortable compe- 
tence ! ” she exclaimed presently. “ Then I shouldn’t 
be a drag upon you, and it wouldn’t be my duty to 
marry any man who was willing to support me. No- 
body could realize more clearly than I do that it is my 
duty to marry Mr. Burgess, and for the last few days I 
have been trying to bring myself to the point of doing 
my duty ; but it’s no use. I can’t do it, Phil, and I 
must confess to him that I can’t.” 

There were tears in her eyes, and she looked so 
miserable that I ought to have said something kind and 


HIS GRACE. 


i6 5 

consolatory, instead of returning, in surly accents, 
“ Well, well, you told me that before, you know, and 
there’s nothing more to be said about it. All you have 
to do is to write and tell him what you have told me.” 

She answered very meekly that she would do so. I 
can’t tell why she thought it necessary to enter upon an 
elaborate vindication of Mr. Burgess’s character, to 
which I lent an inattentive ear. She was still engaged 
in extolling the worth of one who had always seemed 
to me to be about as worthless a member of the com- 
munity as a respectable parish priest can be, when a fly 
was seen to drive up to the front-door, whence pres- 
ently descended a burly figure familiar to both of us. 

“ Good Heavens, Phil, there he is ! ” ejaculated Nora, 
turning pale with consternation. 

“ And a very good thing too,” said I. “ Lady Dev- 
erell has sent him here to ask you what you mean by it, 
and in less than five minutes you can give him the de- 
sired information. He will lunch with us, and after 
luncheon I shall leave you alone — for five minutes. 
Now mind, Nora, he has no right to be inquisitorial or 
to demand reasons. One reason is quite sufficient for 
him, and I do implore you not to let him have more 
than one. If you do, you will be sorry for it after- 
wards.” 

The caution may have been superfluous and may 
also have been a little unfeeling ; but I could not for- 
bear from uttering it, and I had no time to be more ex- 
plicit ; because Mr. Burgess was already advancing to- 
wards us across the lawn, holding out both his huge 
white hands. I got the left one, and dropped it imme- 
diately after it had touched mine. He profited by its 
release to place it upon the top of Nora’s, which he 


i66 


HIS GRACE . 


held for some seconds in an affectionate clasp while he 
explained to what circumstances the delightful surprise 
of his visit was due. He had undertaken to conduct a 
mission in a northern parish for a very dear friend of 
his, he said — I wonder why parsons of his type always 
describe brother parsons as their “ very dear friends ” — 
and he had only been obliged to come a little out of his 
way in order to give himself the pleasure of a short 
talk with us both. He would be very glad to lunch 
with us, and was very sorry that he had just missed 
seeing another very dear friend of his, Lady Deverell, 
who, he believed, had been staying recently in our 
neighborhood. 

For the life of me I couldn’t resist asking him whether 
he hadn’t heard from her since she had left Lavenham ; 
and, as he was a truthful man, he admitted, with a 
quick side-glance at me, that he had. Then we went 
into the house together, Nora looking very much like 
a prisoner who is conscious that even a plea of guilty 
will not avail to mitigate the punishment due to 
crime. 

I scarcely remember what we talked about during a 
meal which the presence of the butler and two footmen 
rendered more formidable than it would have been, had 
we ventured to dispense with their services, as Nora 
and I usually did ; but I remember that the labor of 
keeping up conversation fell entirely upon our guest 
and myself, my sister hardly opening her lips from start 
to finish. At the earliest permissible moment I mum- 
bled some excuse and fled into my den. Mr. Burgess 
had mentioned that it would be necessary for him to 
catch the four o’clock train, so that there was not a 
great deal of time to be lost, and my earnest hope was 


HIS GRACE. 


167 


that he would hear all that it concerned him to hear, if 
not within the prescribed five minutes, at least within 
a quarter of an hour. 

However, a good half-hour had elapsed, and I was 
debating whether I ought not to emerge from my retreat 
and assume a more active part in the proceedings, when 
a discreet tap at the door was followed by the entrance 
of the rejected one. My first glance at his face con- 
vinced me that he was by no means inconsolable ; but 
he closed his eyes and tried to look very woebegone as 
he sank into a chair. 

“ My dear young friend,” said he, “ I have just re- 
ceived a severe blow, which, unexpected though it was 
by me, has not been, I believe, unforeseen by you. 
Whether I have been fairly or honorably treated I 
leave it to you to judge ; I will only say to you, as I 
have said to your sister, that I see no alternative open 
to me but to bow to her decision. I am grieved that 
such a decision should have been imposed upon her 
by events with which, perhaps, I am imperfectly ac- 
quainted ; but I bow to it.” 

Being — as I think was but natural — somewhat irri- 
tated by the man’s manner, I replied that I really did 
not know what else he could do. I said it would be 
mere hypocrisy on my part to pretend that I had ever 
considered the match a desirable one or that I regretted 
its abandonment. It had, in fact, in my opinion, been 
far too hastily arranged. 

“So Lady Deverell thinks,” sighed Mr. Burgess. 
“ She may be right ; she generally is right, because she 
is always animated by the kindliest and most unselfish 
sentiments. Still I own that the change which I can 
detect in your sister’s whole mental attitude has sad- 


HIS GRACE. 


1 68 

dened me. She seems to me to have set her affections 
upon the things of this world, and I greatly fear that she 
will only find out her mistake when it is beyond the 
reach of remedy.” 

“ At least,” I remarked, “ she hasn’t set her affections 
upon you, Mr. Burgess ; and you, I suppose, are more 
or less a thing of this world. Let us be thankful that 
she has been preserved from one irremediable mistake, 
and perhaps it will be time enough to sadden ourselves 
about her when we are quite sure that she has made 
another.” 

I know that it was flippant and impertinent of me 
to address a man of double my age in that way ; I 
know he had just cause for complaint, and I know he 
was, after his fashion, a conscientious sort of mortal. 
But I was so certain that he would have been less 
resigned to his fate if Nora had had a little money of 
her own that I couldn’t help being rather rude to him. 
Besides, I didn’t like his half-sneering insinuation, the 
responsibility for which, I had no doubt, belonged to 
Lady Deverell. 

For the rest, he did not resent my impertinence. He 
shook his head and looked down at his fat, white 
fingers and said he was very glad that he had nothing 
to reproach himself with in connection with the trial 
which it had pleased Heaven to lay upon him. He 
was likewise kind enough to assure me that he blamed 
neither me nor Nora and that he proposed to remember 
us both in his prayers. Perhaps he thought that we 
stood in need of being prayed for, and perhaps, if he 
did, he was not very far wrong. I humbly and peni- 
tently admit that I am incapable of thinking or speak- 
ing justly about such specimens of humanity as Mr. 


HIS GRACE. 


169 

Burgess. There are plenty of much worse specimens 
whom I can understand and sympathize with better ; 
but possibly that is more my misfortune than my fault. 
In any case, I had nothing further to say to him which 
could be accounted worth my while to say or his to 
listen to ; so presently he departed to take up his 
mission work, and if, after accompanying him to the 
door, I made a face at him behind his broad back, it 
will be conceded that I had a right to relieve my feel 1 
ings by making a face at somebody. 

I showed a thoroughly amiable and contented face 
to Nora, whom I hastened to rejoin. “ So there is an 
end of that ! ” I observed. “ I hope we may never do 
a worse day’s work.” 

She smiled at me through the tears with which her 
eyes were dimmed. “ I’m afraid it may turn out to 
have been a bad day’s work for you, Phil,” she an- 
swered ; “but, useless as I am, I must at all events 
make some effort to earn my own living now. The un- 
fortunate thing is that there are so very few occupations 
open to a partially educated woman. There’s nursing, 
and there’s the Post-office, and there’s art needlework ; 
I don’t know whether one could gain enough to pay 
for bread and butter by any of those employments at 
first ; but I should think one might after a time. Do 
you suppose that Uncle John would give me house- 
room until I could see my way a little ? He told me 
that if the worst came to the worst, I might write and 
ask him for shelter.” 

“ The worst,” I remarked, “ hasn’t yet come to the 
worst, inasmuch as I haven’t yet proclaimed my inten- 
tion of casting you adrift. I don’t know what I have 
done to justify you in assuming that I am an incarnate 


HIS GRACE . 


170 

fiend ; but I do know that you will stay here and take 
care of your forlorn brother until further notice, unless 
you have made up your mind to quarrel with him.” 

“ I can’t do that, Phil,” she answered decisively ; 
“ whatever happens, I can’t go on living here. The 
truth is that Lady Deverell was quite right, and that I 
ought never to have come here. Of course she was 
right in saying that a girl ought not to be a guest of a 
bachelor : you yourself felt that, though you won’t 
admit it.” 

“ Is it only in deference to the conventional prej- 
udices of Lady Deverell that you propose to leave this 
house and apply for a berth in the Post-office ? ” I 
inquired. 

She looked at me for a moment, and then answered 
abruptly : “ No, it isn’t only on account of that. What 

is the use of pretending any longer, Phil, when you 
know it all ? — the whole shame and disgrace and humil- 
iation of it ! It is horrible even to speak of such things ; 
but perhaps it is better to speak of them once for all — 
and never again — than to go on shirking them. I have 
seen by your face for a long time that you are disgusted 
with me, and well you may be ! You can’t be more 
disgusted with me than I am with myself ; but there it 
is ! This miserable and ridiculous and contemptible 
thing has happened to me, and I can’t even be quite 
positive that you are the only one who has discovered 
it. Most mercifully, the duke hasn’t ; and I want you 
to believe, Phil, that it hasn’t happened through any 
fault whatsoever of his. All he meant was to be kind 
and sociable ; he couldn’t possibly foresee that I should 
become the wretched idiot that I am. Please don’t say 
anything — there isn’t anything to be said. Only you 


HIS GRACE. 


* 7 * 

will admit now — won’t you ? — that it is out of the 
question for me to go on living here.” 

I could not tell her that I thought she ought to re- 
main at Hurstbourne Castle, nor could I wish her to 
do so ; all I could say was that I meant to make my 
home with her and that, when she left, we would leave 
together. After all, my present appointment, lucrative 
though it was, was not in every way satisfactory to me, 
and even if I did not obtain another immediately, we 
should not starve. I don’t think I said much more 
than that, because I knew what it must have cost her to 
speak out to me as she had done, and that no con- 
ceivable remark could be made upon the subject which 
would not pain her. 

“My dear Phil,” was her reply, “I would rather beg 
my bread from door to door than let you leave the 
duke, and it isn’t only for your sake that I say so. He 
must have somebody to look after his affairs, and if 
you desert him, he will make straight for the Bankruptcy 
Court. I am very grateful to you for wishing to sacri- 
fice yourself and him in order to suit my convenience ; 
but I shouldn’t be in the least bit grateful if you were 
actually to do anything so insane.” 

We argued the point for some little time ; but neither 
of us, I think, really shook the resolution of the other. 
However, I so far got the best of the argument that I 
obtained Nora’s consent to a temporary prolongation 
of existing arrangements. Hurstbourne was not at all 
likely to revisit his estates for another six months, and 
during his absence there was no reason why she should 
not remain with me. That she was anxious to turn her 
back upon a place which must always be full of pain- 
ful associations for her I could well understand ; but I 


* 7 2 


HIS GRACE . 


could hardly see my way to sparing her that degree of 
suffering. Rich people, when they are sick or sad, go 
abroad and travel ; poor people must needs have re- 
course to other methods of living down sorrow. For 
rich and poor alike it is but a question of time. 


HIS GRACE . 


^3 


CHAPTER XIV. 

I COME WHEN I AM CALLED. 

Is it the result of centuries of civilization or a mere 
vague, inherited instinct of barbarism that compels us to 
keep our troubles to ourselves and to mention them only 
at rare intervals even to those from whom we could fain 
have no concealments ? North American Indians are 
said to be our masters in the exercise of stoicism, and 
the courage which we are inclined to associate with 
good birth is forever cropping up in the most un- 
expected quarters. Be that as it may, there is a certain 
class of sorrows which cannot be discussed with com- 
fort or advantage, and to that class my poor Nora’s 
sorrow belonged. It was tacitly agreed upon between 
us that the subject must be a forbidden one ; during 
our daily walks and rides we talked about every 
imaginable subject except that of which we were both 
thinking ; I am sure she knew that I would gladly have 
consoled her, had consolation been possible, while I, 
on my side, was only too well aware that she was not 
the less mortified and miserable because she kept up 
such a brave show of cheerfulness. 

Everything went on as if nothing was the matter ; 
only everything had lost its savor. The days had 
gone by forever when the bare facts of existence and 
robust health and of having one another’s company, 


*74 


HIS GRACE . 


as well as good horses to ride, had sufficed for our 
common contentment ; in vain for us Nature set about 
that slow annual awakening which appeals more to the 
young than to those who have seen many Springs come 
and go ; in vain the hedgerows broke into bud and the 
crocuses and daffodils made bright patches of color in 
the borders ; in vain the bitter east winds of March 
yielded to the sunshine and showers of April, and the 
new year (which ought of course to begin at the vernal 
equinox instead of in mid-winter) held out flattering 
promises of change. We knew that the only change 
which was in store for us was not going to be a change 
for the better, and it was hardly worth our while to 
maintain that elaborate affectation of jollity upon which 
we expended such gallant efforts. The present never 
forgives and the past never returns : do what we would, 
we could not be what we had been a few short months 
before — f a n'etait plus fa. 

It was at this time that I composed a dozen or so of 
those sonnets which, as a benevolent critic afterwards 
remarked, had the ring of true pathos. Other critics 
failed to detect that quality in them, and, upon dis- 
passionate re-perusal, I must confess that I fail to 
detect it myself. But that is only because I am not a 
poet. Had I been dowered with the gift of putting 
my thoughts into appropriate language, I must have 
been pathetic ; for nobody could have realized more 
clearly than I did the tragic comedy of the whole 
situation. What, indeed, could have been more tragi- 
comic than that the life of such a girl as Nora should 
be unwittingly spoilt by a common-place, good-hearted, 
nonentity like Hurstbourne ? It is true that very few 
lives are really spoilt by one unlucky love-affair, and I 


HIS GRACE. 


*75 


naturally hoped that hers would not be ; still I almost 
believe that the first love is the sole genuine one, and, 
in any case, there was little likelihood of her making a 
speedy recovery. 

Well, I had a sufficiency of prosaic matters to claim 
my attention during the intervals of poetic inspiration. 
I suppose the details of Hurtsbourne’s gradual pro- 
gress towards insolvency would not interest the reader 
as much as they interested me; so I will not dwell 
upon them. But I may mention that scarcely a day’s 
post came in without bringing demands upon me which 
I could not meet without imprudence, and that, as the 
days grew into weeks, it became more and more 
evident to me that he had plunged out of his depth. I 
wrote to him again and again, asking him plainly at 
last whether he wished to sink, since there could be no 
doubt that his swimming powers must ere long be 
exhausted. Sometimes he answered, and sometimes 
he didn’t ; he might have spared himself the trouble of 
answering at all, for such replies as he vouchsafed to 
me were not even remotely to the purpose. 

“ You ought never to have let him out of your sight,” 
said Nora — I was so worried at times that she per- 
ceived my distress, and made me tell her all about it ; 
women can always manage to do that with us, and I 
wish with all my heart that they couldn’t ! “ You 

ought never to have let him out of your sight. You 
know what he is, and that he can’t help doing what the 
people about him do, unless there is somebody at hand 
to put a salutary check upon him. As far as that goes, 
he knows it himself. I think, if you were a true friend, 
yoil would follow him up to London, Phil ; you can’t 
doubt that he would be delighted to welcome you.” 


176 


HIS GRACE . 


I assured her that I could perfectly well doubt it ; 
added to which, I had duties to perform where I was. 
Her suggestion struck me as eminently feminine and 
unpractical ; it was no part of my avocations to cling to 
the tail of a donkey who was bent upon precipitating 
himself over a cliff, and so I told her. Yet, when, in 
the beginning of May, I received a somewhat urgent 
letter from Hurstbourne, begging me to run up to 
Berkeley Square for a few days, as he was anxious to 
consult me upon matters of business, I could not do 
otherwise than obey the summons. 

“ Now mind, Phil,” was Nora’s parting injunction to 
me, “ you are not to hurry back on my account. I 
shall be very well taken care care of by the servants, 
and you will probably find that the duke is in much 
greater need of being taken care of than I am.” 

That was a probability which was not to be con- 
tested ; but I had little expectation of finding Hurst- 
bourne in a mood to be influenced by any wise advice 
of mine ; nor, as a matter of fact, could I induce him 
to listen for a moment to the statement upon which I 
embarked as soon as he had done telling me what 
pleasure it gave him to see me again and what a good 
fellow I was to have come so promptly when I was 
called. 

“Yes, yes, my dear chap,” he interrupted; “but I 
really haven’t time to go into figures now. I must be 
off in a minute, and there are people coming to dinner, 
and after that I shall have to look in at half a dozen 
places. To-morrow morning, though, we’ll have a 
palaver, and then you and the lawyers had better meet 
and try to muddle things out somehow among you; I’ll 
be hanged if I can make head or tail of them ! ” 


HIS GRACE. 


1 77 


For a few seconds he stood pinching his lower lip 
between his thumb and forefinger and looking a little 
glum ; then he pulled himself together, glanced at his 
watch and hurried towards the door of the library in 
which he had received me. 

“ I can’t stop,” said he. “ You’ll make yourself at 
home and order what you want, won’t you ? Why 
didn’t you bring Miss Nora ? I wish you had. There’s 
a room all ready for her, you know, as soon as she 
cares to come and occupy it ; but my mother will 
arrange about that with you.” 

Lady Charles, when I went upstairs to pay my re- 
spects to her, was indeed more pressing in her kindly 
offers of hospitality than I could have wished her to 
be, and it was no easy task to make the excuses which 
had to be made. There was, of course, no ostensible 
reason why Nora should not come up to town at once ; 
I could only fence this question by saying that perhaps 
she would come by-and-by ; that she was a little out of 
sorts at present and scarcely fit to face much fatigue, 
and so forth. I daresay Lady Charles might have 
smelt a rat if she had not been the most unsuspecting 
of women, and if she had not been a good deal pre- 
occupied with her own affairs and those of her son. 

“ I am afraid Arthur has been getting into difficul- 
ties,” she said rather anxiously — her speaking of Hurst- 
bourne as “ Arthur ” instead of “ His Grace,” was 
always a sure sign of mental disquietude on her part — 
“ has he told you about them ? No ? Well, it isn’t 
really serious, I hope ; though he has been quite extraor- 
dinarily unfortunate with his horses so far.” 

“ If he is in difficulties, he must be persuaded to 
retrench,” I observed. 


12 


178 


HIS GRACE. 


“ Oh, yes ; I am sure he will do that, if necessary. 
But in the meantime he must live in a style befitting 
his rank, and it would be a great mistake to submit to 
the arrogance of Paul Gascoigne, who loses no oppor- 
tunity of reminding people that he is the late duke’s 
heir. He has been entertaining as profusely and ex- 
travagantly as if he were some mushroom American 
millionaire, which, unluckily, is just the sort of vulgar 
self-assertion that succeeds in these days. Our purse 
is not long enough to compete with his ; but at least 
we do mix in society as good as he can secure and 
perhaps a little more select. The Duke and Duchess 
of Saxe-Groschen-Pfennighausen are dining with us 
to-night.” 

That was indeed a legitimate cause for pride and 
gratification, and I had nothing to say in disparagement 
of it. I don’t know that it costs much more to enter- 
tain Royalties at dinner than to provide a similar re- 
past for mere British commoners, nor would it have 
been at all beyond the Duke of Hurstbourne’s power 
to feast Royal personages in that way, if only he had 
kept within his income in other respects. But, as Nora 
had too truly said, he could not help doing what those 
about him did, and the magnates of the turf are, I take 
it, for the most part men of considerable wealth. 

I had not the honor of sitting down to table with 
their Serene Highnesses. My evening repast was served 
to me in another room, with many apologies and full 
explanations of the inexorable law of etiquette. Later 
on I was vouchsafed a glimpse of these exalted beings, 
as well as of other starred and ribboned individuals, 
in the drawing-room, but Hurstbourne and his mother 
went off to some entertainment the moment that their 


HIS GRACE. 


1 79 


guests had departed ; so it was not until the following 
morning that I was enabled to enter upon matters of 
business and finance. Then I was closeted for half an 
hour with my patron and with a grave representative of 
the firm of family lawyers, and then it was that my worst 
apprehensions were more than confirmed. Things were 
very bad indeed, and, as far as I could see, were going to 
be worse. It was not only that large sums had already 
been borrowed and that mortgages were freely spoken 
of, but that there were heavy debts of honor which 
must absolutely be discharged forthwith, and which 
there was not anything like enough of money in the 
bank to defray. 

“ It just comes to this,” I said at length : “ you may 
be tided over this crisis ; but only on condition that 
you enter at once upon a strict course of economy, 
which will have to be persevered in for several years to 
come. If you haven’t strength of mind enough to face 
that necessity, nobody and nothing in the world can 
save you from permanent ruin.” 

The man of law backed me up, though he stated his 
views with rather more deference and circumlocution ; 
but Hurstbourne did not seem to be greatly impressed 
by either of us. He said we should have to do the 
best we could and that, if he was to come to grief, he 
must come to grief. 

“ Anyhow I’m not quite at my last gasp yet,” he 
added. “ The luck must turn some time, and, if there’s 
any justice, I ought to win a pot of money at Kempton 
Park and Manchester and Sandown. You fellows don’t 
understand that no man can race without running 
risks.” 

I ventured to think that was just what we did under* 


i8o 


HIS GRACE. 


stand ; but he was not amenable to the dictates of reason 
and common sense. Afterwards he told me confiden- 
tially that it was a sheer waste of breath to talk to 
him about reducing his establishment and selling his 
thoroughbreds, at that particular juncture. For various 
reasons, the thing couldn’t be done just then without 
an immense pecuniary sacrifice ; added to which, every- 
body would laugh at him if he were to show the white 
feather so soon after having made a bold start. “ And 
even if I didn’t mind being laughed at by everybody 
else, I couldn’t stand being laughed at by Paul Gas- 
coigne. Do you see ? ” 

I saw ; and I said I was very sorry to see that he 
was such an unspeakable ass ; whereat he burst out 
laughing. In replying to some further observations 
and questions of mine, he informed me that Miss St. 
George was in London with her aunt and that he met 
her pretty frequently. 

“ It would do you good to watch Paul’s sour face 
when I dance with her,” said he. “ Paul can do one or 
two things ; he’s a tolerably good speaker, I believe, 
and of course, with all his money, he can give his 
friends a first-class dinner. But he can’t dance, and 
Miss St. George can.” 

I doubted whether it would make me much happier 
to look on at the spectacle alluded to ; but, such as it 
was, I was privileged to witness it that evening, when 
Hurstbourne and Lady Charles kindly insisted upon 
dragging me to a ball at which Lady Deverell and her 
niece were also present. Hurstbourne’s attentions to 
the latter lady were so marked that everybody noticed 
them ! I suppose he must have intended them to be 
noticed. As for Mr. Gascoigne, he certainly did look 


HIS GRACE. 


181 

sour ; and so, for the matter of that, did my esteemed 
friend Lady Deverell. 

“ So you have come up from the country,” were the 
first words with which her ladyship greeted me. “ You 
have been sent for perhaps ? Not that you are likely 
to do much good, if all that I hear is true. Have 
you brought Nora with you ? ” 

I replied that I had not done so, as I had hoped 
only to be detained a few days in London. In answer 
to further interrogatories, I had to admit that my stay 
was likely to be a longer one than I had anticipated ; 
whereupon Lady Deverell surprised me a little by 
rejoining : 

“ Then I hope you will let Nora come to me while 
you are here. You can’t leave her at Hurstbourne 
Castle all by herself ; and really, if you will believe me, 
Lady Charles Gascoigne is not the sort of chaperon 
whom your poor dear mother would have chosen for 
her daughter. May I write to Nora to-morrow and tell 
her that you consent to my taking charge of her for a 
time ? I am obliged to take my niece about, so that 
she need not be afraid of being dull, and I am sure 
you, on your side, must feel that she will be rather 
safer with me than with those people.” 

No doubt she would ; although the obstacles which I 
saw in the way of her accepting hospitality from “ those 
people ” might not be precisely the ones alluded to 
by Lady Deverell. I was not quick-witted enough to 
guess why this old friend of ours was so anxious to 
assume the temporary guardianship of my sister; I 
thought she really meant to be kind, and I thought also 
that I might do a great deal worse than take advantage 
of her proffered kindness. It was evident to me that I 


182 


HIS GRACE. 


should have to stay on in Berkeley Square ; I was very 
uneasy about Hurstbourne and did not want to leave 
him, if I could possibly help it ; yet supposing that I 
did stay, it would be almost impossible to resist the 
importunities of Lady Charles, unless I either told her 
the truth (which was out of the question), or could 
plead as an excuse that Lady Deverell, who, after all, 
had provided my sister with a home when we had been 
deprived of our own, possessed a prior claim upon 
Nora’s companionship. 

Actuated by these considerations, I said : “ Well, 
thank you ; it is very good of you, and I will write to 
Nora about it. I don’t know whether she is par- 
ticularly ambitious of coming up to London ; but I 
am afraid I shall not be able to return north yet 
awhile.” 

“ That is all settled then,” returned Lady Deverell, 
who appeared to think that the assent of the person 
chiefly concerned was a quantite negligeable. “ She 
shall be made welcome, and I hope there is no 
necessity for me to assure you that I shall be very 
careful to avoid introducing her to anyone of whom 
your mother would have disapproved. Of course I am 
not responsible for her being already acquainted with 
the Duke of Hurstbourne.” 

“ I should never dream of being so unjust as to 
hold you responsible for that calamity/* I answered ; 
“ you can’t even prevent your own niece from dancing 
with the wicked duke, I observe.” 

I think Lady Deverell must have been deprived of 
her self-control by the episodes of the evening ; for, in- 
stead of snubbing me, she said ; “ Leila is an obstinate, 
contradictious fool ! ” Then she dived into her pocket, 


IIIS GRACE . 183 

drew forth a big pocket-handkerchief and blew a re- 
sounding blast upon her nose. 

“ Not,” she resumed, after a pause, during which 
she may have had time to reflect upon the imprudence 
of her language — “ not, mind you, that I am in the least 
degree afraid of your ducal friend. He is three parts 
ruined already, and before this time next year he will 
probably be residing at Boulogne or some such place 
upon an allowance made to him by his trustees. No ; 
it is nothing to me whether he dances with my niece or 
with somebody else on the brink of a volcano. You, I 
am afraid, are likely to suffer when the crash comes ; 
but that is only what I foresaw and forewarned you of 
from the outset.” 

Not being ready with any adequate rejoinder, I fell 
back and, shortly afterwards, effected my escape. Full 
well I knew that the crash was coming; perhaps it was 
a good thing that, in view of its imminence, Nora 
should be furnished with an unamiable, yet useful and 
wealthy protectress. 


184 


HIS GRACE. 


CHAPTER XV. 

THE DOWN-HILL ROAD. 

I wrote to Nora, and in the course of a few days had 
a reply from her to the effect that she had received 
Lady DeverelPs invitation and intended to accept it. 
“ I am sure you are quite right to remain in Berkeley 
Square,” she told me ; “ and for the reason that you 
know of, it wouldn’t be possible for me to join you there. 
So I ought to be, and I am, very grateful to Lady 
Deverell for having helped me out of a difficulty. I 
don’t exactly expect to enjoy myself with her ; but I 
couldn’t very well have stayed on here for an indef- 
inite length of time without you, and I hope I am not 
quite such an idiot as you naturally take me for. I 
mean, I am still capable of being amused and of con- 
ducting myself properly in fashionable society.” 

Fortified by these assurances, I proceeded to break 
the news to Lady Charles Gascoigne, who, as I had 
anticicipated would be the case, was not best pleased. 

“ I thought,” said she, “ it was an understood thing 
that your sister was to come to us. I must confess that 
I am surprised at her preferring to place herself under 
the wing of that horrid old cat, who doesn’t really know 
anybody and who won’t be able to take her to the best 
houses.” 


BIS GRACE. 


i8 5 

I humbly submitted that winged cats are rara avis, 
and that if Lady Deverell belonged to that species, she 
might manage to achieve higher social flights than it had 
hitherto been worth her while to attempt. “ You see,” 
I remarked, “ she is now in charge of an ambitious niece 
who will probably find means of admittance into the 
best houses. Besides, Nora is under obligations to 
her which can’t be forgotten or set aside. I am sure 
you will admit that as readily as you will admit that one 
isn’t always free to consult one’s personal inclinations.” 

Lady Charles was too good-natured or, it may be, 
too indifferent to quarrel with us ; but Hurstbourne, on 
being informed of the arrangement which had been 
made with my sanction, astonished me by the vehe- 
mence of his protestations against it. 

“ I tell you frankly, Martyn,” said he, “ that I call it 
deuced unfriendly. If your sister doesn’t care to come 
and stay with us, well and good : that is a question for 
her to decide according to her taste, and I wouldn’t for 
the world urge her to enter this pandemonium against 
her wish. But, since it seems that she does want to see 
what a London season is like, I really think she might 
have established herself somewhere else than in the 
enemy’s camp.” 

“Why will you persist in calling it the enemy’s 
camp ? ” I asked. “ What is the use of regarding people 
as enemies who haven’t injured you and who, as far as 
I am aware, have no intention of injuring you ? Lady 
Deverell is upon visiting terms with your mother, you 
know.” 

Indeed I had ascertained that a sort of ill-tempered 
treaty of peace had been concluded between these 
two ladies and that they shook hands when they met. 


i86 


HIS GRACE. 


although they would doubtless have preferred to scratch 
out one another’s eyes. 

“Oh, it isn’t that,” returned Hurstbourne ; “I don’t 
care a button whether old Deverell loves us or hates us, 
and she doesn’t make much disguise of her hatred. I 
only call her the enemy because she is hand and glove 
with Paul Gascoigne, who is our enemy if ever we had 
one. Moreover, I can’t see why you should be so eager 
to thrust your sister into the degraded mob which goes 
by the name of London society. She would be a great 
deal better off and a great deal happier down in the 
country — where I wish to Heaven I was ! However I 
suppose neither you nor she will be deterred by anything 
that I can say.” 

I answered that I had no fear of my sister’s being 
contaminated, but that I should sincerely rejoice if he 
would lend the force of example to his admirable pre- 
cepts by quitting a society which he professed to de- 
spise and which was evidently becoming far too ex- 
pensive for him. Thereupon he frowned and grunted 
and went away. It was easy enough to put the poor 
fellow to silence by alluding to his pecuniary embarrass- 
ments, and it was not very generous of me to adopt 
that method with him : all I can plead is, that it was 
necessary to shut him up somehow or other. 

I went to meet Nora at the King’s Cross station, 
on her arrival, and drove with her to Lady Deverell’s 
house in Upper Grosvenor Street. She seemed to be 
in better health and spirits than when I had parted from 
her, and she laughed as she implored me not to pull 
such a long face. 

“ I really am not going to die, Phil,” said she ; “ my 
disease isn’t a mortal one, as everybody is aware, and I 


HIS GRACE . 


1S7 

shall be convalescent before you know where you are. 
I have brought a large supply of tonics with me in the 
shape of good resolutions, and I daresay Lady Deverell 
will kindly provide others in the shape of respectable 
marriageable gentlemen. So, if you please, we will 
treat bygones as bygones henceforth and forever.” 

“ Very well,” I answered — for in truth that appeared 
to me to be our wisest plan — “ but the respectable, mar- 
riageable gentlemen aren’t bygones.” 

“ Only one of them. The others belong to the future, 
and when they belong to the present we will discuss 
them as much as you like. Not that we shall have 
much to discuss, because if they are marriageable and 
respectable, nothing more will be required of them.” 

“ Something more will be required of them by me,” I 
remarked. “ I don’t suppose you mean what you say, 
Nora ; but if, by any chance, you did, you would be 
rather inconsequent, wouldn’t you ? Why did you 
break off your engagement to Mr. Burgess, pray ? ” 

“ Well — because he was Mr. Burgess. Some people 
are impossible ; others are perfectly possible, though 
they may not be the precise embodiment of one’s ro- 
mantic dreams. I know what you are thinking ; but 
you are mistaken. I am not going to accept the first 
man who asks me out of pique or in order to punish 
somebody to whom that would be no punishment at 
all ; only it is obvious that I must either marry or be- 
come a burden and a nuisance to my nearest male 
relative. Consequently, I have made up my mind to 
marry ; and consequently I am now on my way to stay 
with Lady Deverell.” 

“ Then,” I returned, “ all I can say is that I hope 
nobody will ask you.” 


1 88 


HIS GRACE. 


“ If nobody does, there will still remain the Post- 
office. Now let us talk about something else. Have 
you been to see a publisher yet ? And if not, why 
not ? ” 

As a matter of fact, I had interviewed a publisher, 
and a very polite, as well as a very discouraging gentle- 
man I had found him. But that is neither here nor 
there. It was of infinitely greater importance to me 
than all the literary fame or profit in the world that my 
sister should be restrained from committing some rash 
action, and I could not feel as sure as I should have 
liked to feel that she would be restrained by Lady 
Deverell, to whose care I presently had the honor of 
confiding her. I was puzzled by the old lady’s amia- 
bility ; I could not understand her bland acquiescence 
in the dismissal of her pet parson, nor was I able to 
arrive at any comprehension of her motives for show- 
ing us so much kindness. A desire on her part to 
spite Lady Charles hardly seemed to be a sufficient 
explanation of them. 

“ Of course you will want to see as much as you can 
of your sister,” she said very graciously, “ and we are 
not far from Berkeley Square, you know. One of the 
servants will always be available to take her round 
there, if you would rather she didn’t walk through the 
streets alone.” 

It seemed unlikely that Nora would wish to pay fre- 
quent visits to Berkeley Square, but it was certainly 
incumbent upon her to pay a speedy visit to Lady 
Charles Gascoigne, and I suggested that she might 
do so about half-past five on the following afternoon. 
“ When,” I was careful to add, for my sister’s benefit, 
“ you may count upon finding Lady Charles at home 


HIS GRACE. 


189 


and all by herself. That is to say that you will proba- 
bly find me with her, because I shall make a point of 
being there ; but Hurstbourne seldom shows his face 
before the dinner hour.” 

This was a strictly truthful assertion, though Hurst- 
bourne saw fit to falsify it. I mentioned in the course 
of the ensuing day that Nora would' be coming about 
tea-time, and I suppose he must have taken note of my 
words ; for no sooner had she arrived, and been em- 
braced and scolded for her breach of faith with a lady 
whose earnest wish it had been to have the pleasure of 
introducing her into the highest circles, than in he 
walked. 

“ I have a crow to pluck with you, Miss Nora,” he 
made haste to announce. “ I should like to know 
what you mean by turning your back upon us and go- 
ing over to the enemy. Your brother won’t allow that 
Lady Deverell is the enemy ; but you aren’t such an 
old humbug as he is, and I’m sure you won’t pretend 
to think that she is a friend of ours. So now perhaps 
you’ll kindly explain yourself.” 

I was thankful to perceive that Nora’s emotions 
were well under control. She made much the same 
excuse as I had already made to Lady Charles on her 
behalf, and did not treat his remonstrances seriously. 
It may have been painful to her to meet him and talk 
with him ; but she did not look as though she were in 
pain, and after a time I felt able to relax my vigilant 
observation of her words and ways. When we had 
finished our tea Hurstbourne and she retired into the 
back drawing-room together, upon I forget what pre- 
text, while Lady Charles entertained me with a pro- 
tracted description of a garden-party at which she had 


190 


HIS GRACE . 


been present and at which she appeared to have met 
quite a galaxy of celebrities. 

“ I had a long chat with his Royal Highness,” the 
poor old thing told me, with irrepressible glee, “ and 
he was as simple and natural as possible — just like 
any ordinary person. He said he couldn’t think how 
it was that he had never met me before. His Grace 
is a great deal in that set now, you know.” 

I had not the heart to distress her by saying that 
his Grace’s participation in the diversions of that set 
was likely to be a brief one. I allowed her to prattle 
on, and did not contradict her when she declared that 
a Duke of Hurstbourne possessed almost a prescriptive 
right to some post connected with the Royal household. 

“At present,” she remarked, “all the appointments 
that he could accept are filled up, and the Tories are 
naturally reluctant to bestow any honor upon the head 
of one of the historic Whig houses ; but I think they 
will find, when a vacancy does occur, that his claims 
are too strong to be resisted.” 

The head of the historic Whig house presently 
emerged from his retreat in the back drawing-room to 
inform us that Miss Martyn said she must be off, and 
that he proposed to see her home. Miss Martyn, 
however, declined his proffered escort, and, as it ap- 
peared that Lady Deverell’s maid was waiting for her 
in the hall, he had to admit that she stood in need of 
no additional protection. 

“ I shall see you again before long, I hope,” said he, 
as he shook hands with Nora at the foot of the stairs ; 
“ meanwhile I’ll endeavor to lay your good advice to 
heart. You won’t go very far wrong, though, if you 
bestow an occasional thought upon mine.” 


HIS GRACE . 


191 

“Yours wasn’t much to the point,” observed Nora; 
“ mine was. Good-evening.” 

It was within the range of my capacities to surmise 
what he had been counselling her to do and avoid ; 
but, as I felt somewhat curious to learn the nature of 
her exhortations to him, I made so bold as to interro- 
gate him upon the subject. 

“ My dear fellow,” he answered, “ your sister is al- 
most as wise as you are — which is saying a good deal. 
She sees what you see and what lots of people who 
aren’t as wise as either of you see too. What she 
doesn’t see, and what I can’t explain to her, is that it’s 
too late for me to make a fresh start now. The flag’s 
down, we’re all off, and I’ve got to ride the race out, 
whether I win or whether I come a howling cropper. 
I don’t say that the stakes were worth entering for ; I 
daresay they weren’t and I daresay I shouldn’t go in for 
them a second time ; but what’s the use of talking about 
that at this time of day ? I must do the best I can ; and 
I mean beating Paul Gascoigne if it’s in any way possi- 
ble to beat him — I don’t mind telling you that much.” 

“ In what way is it possible to beat him ? ” I in- 
quired. “ Not in politics, not in ostentation, certainly 
not upon the turf, with which he had nothing to do. 
Would you call it beating him to bind yourself for life 
to a woman who will hate you unless you can allow her 
an exorbitant sum in the shape of pin-money and who, 
if you would only leave her alone, would make him 
quite satisfactorily miserable for the rest of his days ? ” 

Hurstbourne seemed to think this an excellent joke ; 
for he laughed loud and long. “ I never knew such a 
confirmed woman-hater as you are, Martyn,” said he ; 
“ I don’t believe you think there is a decent woman in 


HIS GRACE . 


*92 

the world, unless it’s your sister. Miss St. George is 
about as good as they make them — in an ordinary way 
of speaking. Besides, I haven’t asked her to marry 
me yet ; and I don’t see why you should take it for 
granted that she will jump down my throat if I ever 
do.” 

I by no means took that for granted ; on the con- 
trary, I believed Miss St. George to be far too wide 
awake to unite her fortunes with those of a man who 
had hopelessly compromised his own. What I did take 
for granted was that she would end by marrying Paul 
Gascoigne ; though it seemed likely enough that she 
would amuse herself with Hurstbourne during the 
season — perhaps also utilize him as a stalking-horse. 

It may be that, as time went on, I should in some 
degree have modified my ideas respecting her, had I 
seen her and Hurstbourne together more frequently 
than I did. Afterwards I heard from many people 
that her conduct had placed the fact of her being 
deeply smitten with him almost beyond a doubt, and 
indeed I suppose that the coldest and most calculating 
of women is not wholly exempt from the passions of 
love and jealousy. Miss St. George — so I was sub- 
sequently informed — soon became violently jealous of 
my sister, who of course accompanied her and Lady 
Deverell to the houses which Hurstbourne was in the 
habit of frequenting and whose intimacy with the duke 
was fostered and encouraged in every way by her 
chaperon. Mr. Gascoigne, meanwhile, was not less 
violently jealous of his cousin ; so that altogether it 
must have been an amusing little comedy for those who 
were not personally interested in it to watch. I myself 
did not watch it, because I was only invited to very 


HIS GRACE. 


J 93 


few entertainments and declined most of the few in- 
vitations that I did receive. Neither Hurstbourne nor 
Lady Charles told me much about their social doings, 
while Nora was only careful to assure me that she was 
enjoying herself. She was a good deal admired, I 
heard. 

Hurstbourne lost a considerable sum over the 
Derby : somehow or other, he always managed to lose, 
and how he managed to pay I hardly knew. As far as 
I could see, it was only by means of most undesirable 
and costly devices that we were able to meet the 
current expenses of two large establishments. But it 
was useless to remonstrate with him ; because he was 
possessed by the gambler’s spirit and clung to the 
gambler’s last forlorn hope of setting himself straight 
by one brilliant and successful stroke. My poor dear 
Hurstbourne was and is one of the best fellows in 
England, and, like so many of the best fellows in Eng- 
land, he was bent upon committing moral suicide. I 
could not save him, though I was thoroughly ashamed 
of my inaptitude — if there was any consolation in 
that. 

I need scarcely say that he had made arrangements 
for being present at every event of the Ascot meetings 
and if these did not include the hire of a house in the 
neighborhood of the course, that was only because I res- 
olutely refused to provide him with the necessary 
funds. However, I could not prevent him from hiring 
a box, and I gathered that he intended the box to be 
tenanted not only by his mother but by Lady Deverell 
and the two charming young ladies whose movements 
were supposed to be under Lady Deverell’s control. 
It was with no little chagrin that he informed me, one 
*3 


194 


HIS GRACE. 


evening, of the disappointment inflicted upon him by 
the rigid old chaperon in question. 

“ She says she don’t approve of racing, and her con- 
science won’t allow her to take her niece to a race- 
course,” he grunted. “ Did you ever hear such rub- 
bish ! I told her she needn’t come unless she liked, 
because my mother would look after Miss St. George 
just as well as she could ; but she wouldn’t give in. 
Only she said she wasn’t entitled to dictate to your 
sister ; so I hope Miss Nora will join us. Miss Nora 
is such a good sportswoman that she’s sure to enjoy 
herself ever so much more than we poor devils, who 
can’t always afford to wish for the victory of the best 
horse, can expect to do. Besides, between you and me, 
I shouldn’t be sorry to get her out of this hurly-burly 
for a bit. You choose to shut yourself up, and you 
don’t see what’s going on ; but I tell you I don’t half 
like the way in which some of these fellows are running 
after your sister. Old fellows too, a good many of 
them. And she’s inexperienced; you know, and 
there’s nobody to give her a hint or a caution, 
except that worldly-religious dowager — Ah, my dear 
Martyn, what a dog-hole of a world this is, and what 
asses we all are to live in the midst of it, when we 
might have lived outside it and been healthy and 
happy and jolly ! ” 

I was not much surprised when Nora declined to avail 
herself of the somewhat inadequate loophole of escape 
from the fashionable world offered to her by a visit 
to Ascot. She said that, although she might not be 
under Lady Deverell’s orders, she was living in Lady 
Deverell’s house and ought to respect the prejudices 
of her temporary guardian — which sounded reasonable 


HIS GRACE. 


*9 S 

enough. Lady Charles went down on the Tuesday, and 
Friday, and Hurstbourne dragged me with him ,faute 
de mieux , on the other days. It was a disastrous busi- 
ness from start to finish, and when the meeting was at 
an end, he frankly confessed to me that matters were 
beginning to look devilish serious. 

“ They began to look devilish serious some time ago,” 
I remarked with a sigh. 

“ H’m ! I suppose they did ; there’s some comfort in 
that. Well, I may have better luck, and I think I shall, 
at Sandown, where I’m running a couple of my own 

horses. If that doesn’t come off but sufficient 

unto the day is the evil thereof. Did you see Paul 
Gascoigne swaggering about in the enclosure on 
Thursday ? ” 

“ No,” I answered ; “ I didn’t know that he was a 
patron of the turf.” 

“He a patron of the turf ! — rather not ! I suppose 
he went down partly because he thought it was the 
proper thing to show himself at Ascot on the Cup Day, 
and partly because he hoped to witness my discomfiture. 
He wasn’t disappointed there ; but he hasn’t bowled me 
out yet, I can tell him. I wish I knew what he meant 
by those everlasting insinuations of his that one can’t 
take hold of. I’m pretty sure that he has got hold of 
some story, true or false, about my father ; but if he 
holds a trump-card, why doesn’t he play it ? ” 

“ Perhaps,” I suggested, “ he is waiting to see what 
card you mean to play. My belief is that he won’t 
trouble you if only you won’t interfere between him and 
Miss St. George, and it seems to me that you might 
oblige him to that extent without any great personal 
suffering or loss. Would you mind telling me one thing, 


196 


HIS GRACE. 


Hurstbourne : are you really in love with Miss St. 
George ? ” 

“ My dear old Martyn,” answered Hurstbourne, 
“ I don’t mind telling you anything in reason, and 
nothing that you could say to me would make me 
feel in the least bit huffy with you ; but — I put it to you 
now as a man and a brother — don’t you think that is 
rather an impertinent question ? ” 


tf/S GRACE . 


a 97 


CHAPTER XVI. 

NONE OF MY BUSINESS. 

It is generally accounted a creditable thing in any 
man that he should be a good loser, and the self- 
command which enables its possessor to meet disaster 
with a composed smile is, no doubt, a quality which 
deserves some admiration ; still I must say that it was 
not a little provoking to a sober, commonplace person 
like myself to see my best friend diligently and cheer- 
fully pounding his head against a brick wall. The 
wall was so evidently harder than his head that it was 
difficult to understand where the fun of the encounter 
came in, and I couldn’t help saying as much to him. 

“ It is all very fine,” I remarked, “ to refrain from 
crying when you are hurt ; but I really don’t see why 
you should laugh about it.” 

“ I laugh, my dear boy,” he returned, “ because I am 
not beat yet. When I am, we’ll sit down on the floor, 
side by side, and stuff our fists into our eyes, if that 
will relieve your overcharged feelings ; for the present 
it won’t do either you or me any harm to anticipate a 
victory at Sandown.” 

This was a few days after Ascot. Things had come 
to such a pass that no victory, at Sandown or elsewhere, 
was likely to set him upon his legs again ; but perhaps, 


HIS GRACE. 


when a condemned man has started for the scaffold, it 
is a matter of small consequence whether he exhibits 
an edifying dejection or disappoints spectators by look- 
ing as if he didn’t care. As for me, I perceived that 
my functions must soon come to an end. My daily 
routine work had ceased to possess any interest for me, 
now that the saving of a few pounds here and there 
could not affect the ultimate result one way or the 
other. I daresay that was why I hurried through it on 
that particular morning and, for no reason except that 
I did not know what else to do with myself, strolled off 
to Hyde Park. 

I have always abhorred London, and it has always 
been incomprehensible to me that people who might be 
breathing fresh country air should deliberately choose 
to spend the best part of the summer in that thickly- 
populated desert of bricks and pavement*, but I don’t 
wonder that the poor, deluded creatures should be 
thankful for such an apology for green leaves and such 
an imitation of what flower-beds ought to look like as 
the Park can afford them, and to my mind they look 
rather better and happier there than they do by candle- 
light. That is, the men and a few of the women look 
better ; the majority of the latter have, of course, seen 
fit in these days to adopt a species of complexion which 
is ill-fitted to cope with the warm glow of a sunny June 
morning. I was wandering along, taking half-conscious 
notes of the passers-by as I went, and inwardly wonder- 
ing who could have been the first extraordinary indi- 
vidual to suggest that mauve is a becoming color to lay 
thickly upon human cheeks and chins, when I caught 
sight of Hurstbourne riding with Miss St. George. 
There was a groom behind them — Lady Deverell’s 


HIS GRACE. 


i 99 


groom, I presumed, since he did not wear the Gascoigne 
livery — but they were otherwise unaccompanied and un- 
attended ; which seemed rather imprudent on their part, 
unless they wanted to be talked about. But very likely 
one of them did, while the other didn’t mind. A man 
with whom I was slightly acquainted took me by the 
elbow before I had ceased to gaze at their backs, and 
said : 

“ Does that really mean business ? You ought to 
know.” 

“ Ought I ? ” I answered. “ Well, I don’t. It’s none 
of my business, anyhow.” 

“ Oh, but I thought you were acting as a sort of male 
nurse to the duke. It’s too bad of you if you aren’t, 
for nobody stands in greater need of a nurse than that 
misguided young man does. To live at the rate of 
about three times your income is silly enough ; but you 
may take my word for it that that isn’t half so silly as 
marrying Miss St. George. I know, because my sister 
was at school with her, and the girl is mother of the 
woman, as Shakespeare, or some other equally sharp- 
witted old quilldriver, observes. Miss St. George has 
no money, precious little brains and a beastly temper. 
If you have any influence over that unlucky duke of 
yours, it is yourjiuty to exert it and get him to drop 
this game, whatever other games that he doesn’t un- 
derstand he may insist upon playing.” 

“ I have no influence over him to speak of,” I replied 
rather crossly, “ and I think Miss St. George has brains 
enough to refuse a man who is spending three times 
his income — supposing Hurstbourne to be such a man. 
Added to which, Miss St. George has a vigilant and 
competent aunt.” 


200 


HIS GRACE. 


Then I turned and walked away, not caring to listen 
to any more remarks of the above description. I 
walked straight to the house of Miss St. George’s aunt ; 
not because I wanted to see that lady, but because I did 
rather want to see Nora, to whom I had something to 
say. The chances were that before the autumn I should 
find myself free and unemployed ; she also would, I 
hoped, be similarly situated ; and it seemed to me that 
the time had nearly come for us to make some arrange- 
ment respecting the future. 

Miss Martyn was at home, I was told, on reaching 
Upper Grosvenor Street, and very glad Miss Martyn 
was to see me. So, at least, she said, though she 
might have given a more flattering reason for her glad- 
ness. 

“ I was just wondering how I could manage to get a 
word with you, Phil,” she began. “ I want you to tell 
me whether all these things that people are saying are 
true. I can’t ask anybody else, because I don’t like to 
appear inquisitive: besides, I suppose all they could 
do would be to repeat hearsay. But you must know 
whether it is a fact or not that he has lost such enormous 
sums of late.” 

I did not think it worth while to waste time and 
breath by inquiring who “ he ” might be. “ It is a 
fact,” I replied, “ that he lost a good deal of money at 
Ascot. I can’t tell you how much, and I don’t know 
that it particularly signifies. It is just wildly possible 
that before the end of the racing season he may recoup 
himself for his losses ; but I have given up all hope 
that he will ever consent to square his expenditure 
with his revenue ; so, since the break-down must 
inevitably occur sooner or later, it may as well come in 


HIS GRACE. 


201 


a few months as next year or the year after. For 
several reasons, in fact, the sooner it comes the better 
I shall be pleased. The sooner it comes the more 
likelihood there will be of our saving enough out of the 
wreck for him to live upon ; though not enough, I trust, 
to tempt Miss St. George, with whom I saw him riding 
in Rotten Row just now.” 

Nora looked very grave at this. “ Was he riding with 
her ? ” she asked. “ If Lady Deverell hears of that, 
she will be furious. As it was, there was very nearly a 
quarrel at breakfast time because Miss St. George in- 
sisted upon going out with the groom, and it did seem 
odd that she should be so determined to do what she 
had never cared to do before. They must have been 
seen together, of course.” 

“ Oh, they must have been seen together,” I agreed. 
“ They must have been seen by several hundreds, not 
to say thousands, of persons besides your humble 
servant. But that is rather more Miss St. George’s 
look-out than yours or mine* isn’t it ? ” 

Nora made no immediate reply. She had received 
me in a small room — so small that it ought, perhaps, 
rather to be described as a recess of the drawing-room, 
from which it was separated by looped-up curtains and 
by one of those perforated cedar-wood screens where- 
with the army of occupation in Egypt has flooded the 
abodes of its friends at home. While we were talking, 
she had been arranging cut flowers in a multitude of 
bowls and specimen-glasses, in preparation, I suppose, 
for a dinner-party, and she silently pursued this employ- 
ment for some time before she said : 

“ I am afraid you will think I am jealous of Miss St. 
George, Phil, but you will be mistaken if you do think 


202 


HIS GRACE. 


so. I have quite got over my — my trouble now, and it 
isn’t on that account — of course it couldn't be ! — that 
I wish we could save him from her.” 

“ She will save him and herself at one and the same 
time,” I answered. “ It will be a case of sauve qui 
peut before long, and unless I am very much mistaken 
in the young lady, she won’t be slow to join the general 
flight.” 

“ You say that,” observed Nora , " because you neither 
understand her nor — nor the whole position of affairs. 
I don’t believe she cared a bit for him when she was 
at Lavenham ; she may have thought there was no harm 
in having a second string to her bow, or perhaps she 
may have been flattered by his admiration. But I am 
certain that she does care for him now ; and it is almost 
entirely owing to Lady Deverell’s mismanagement that 
she does.” 

“ If she cares for him enough to marry him upon a 
mere pittance, she is entitled to our respectful sympa- 
thy,” said I ; “ but I venture to doubt whether her aunt 
will be guilty of such gross mismanagement as to let 
her incur a sacrifice of that heroic description.” 

“ I am afraid she is foolish enough to marry him,” 
answered Nora ; “I am sure she doesn’t care for him 
enough to put up with any privations for his sake ; and 
— she isn’t at all afraid of her aunt. You won’t under- 
stand unless I tell you all about it, and even when I 
have told you, the chances are that you won’t believe 
the truth. However, here it is for you in all its naked- 
ness. Lady Deverell, of course, has wanted all along 
to make up a match between her niece and Mr. Gas- 
coigne; that much you must have seen for yourself. 
After a time she became alarmed by the duke’s atten- 


HIS GRACE. 


20 3 

tions ; so she sent for me. Perhaps you didn’t trace 
any connection between cause and effect there.” 

I confessed that I had failed to do so, and Nora 
went on : 

“ So did I until the scheme was made too apparent 
to mislead an infant. The duke was supposed to have 
been more or less captivated by my charms down in 
the country — such a thing wasn’t impossible, although, 
as you know, it didn’t actually occur — and it was hoped 
that my sudden appearance in London would produce 
a certain effect upon him. The queer part of the busi- 
ness is that, instead of having produced that effect up- 
on him, it has produced a rather startling effect upon 
somebody else. Naturally he has talked and danced a 
good deal with me — we were always good friends, you 
know — and the consequence has been that his flirtation 
with Miss St. George has become a serious love-affair. 
It was serious on his side from the first, I suppose, and 
now it is serious on hers. If, as you say, and as every- 
body says, he is upon the brink of ruin, his friends 
ought to do all they can to prevent him from making 
ruin more ruinous than there is any need for it to be 
by sharing it with Miss St. George. Don’t you think 
so?” 

“ Upon my word, I don’t know,” I replied rather 
snappishly. “ Hurstbourne isn’t the only person in the 
world who interests me, and, as I told you before, I 
have great confidence in Miss St. George’s distaste for 
heroic sacrifices. I may be wrong ; but what strikes 
me most forcibly in all this is that I have some little 
right to resent your having been made a cat’s-paw of. 
Do you yourself feel no sort of resentment, may I ask ? ” 

“ That isn’t the question,” said Nora. “ Well, since 


204 


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you ask me, I may as well admit that I do. The posi- 
tion is not a very dignified or a very agreeable one, and 
I haven’t yet told you the worst of it — the worst, I mean, 
so far as I am concerned. All’s fair in love and in war, 
and I don’t very much wonder that when the duke 
saw, as he couldn’t help seeing, how things were, he 
should have taken advantage of his opportunities. He 
might have remembered that some trifle of consideration 
was due to me ; but then, to be sure, he wasn’t aware of 
my susceptibility. To speak plainly, he has chosen to 
enrage Miss St. George of late by a rather conspicuous 
pretence of devotion to me. Well, it suited his purpose 
to make believe, and I forgive him, though I can’t say 
that my personal affection for him has been exactly 
increased by his conduct. Still I like him well enough 
to wish to do him a good turn if I can, and that is why 
I was anxious to hold a consultation with you.” 

“ I also was anxious to hold a consultation with you,” 
I answered; “but not about Hurstbourne. Let him 
go to the — well, let us say to the dogs, since he seems 
to have set his heart upon arriving at that destination. 
I have done all I could for him ; it is high time that I 
began trying to do something for my sister. And a 
man who has used my sister as he has used you, really 
mustn’t expect me to care particularly whether he and 
Miss St. George and the whole lot of them together go 
to the dogs or not.” 

“ Nevertheless, you do care,” remarked Nora quietly. 

“ Very well ; I do care, if you will have it so. But I 
care a great deal more for you than I do for him ; and 
there is nothing discreditable in that statement, I hope.” 

Then I proceeded to unfold my plans. I said I had 
resolved to resign my present post and that, even if I 


HIS GRACE . 


205 


4 wished to retain it, I should not be able to do so much 
longer, because Hurstbourne’s affairs must soon be 
placed in the hands of trustees. I proposed to take a 
small house somewhere on the outskirts of London, 
while looking about for some fresh field in which to 
employ my energies, and I added that Nora would have 
to make her home with me until she married. I went 
on to state that I did not ask her consent to this arrange- 
ment, seeing that I held myself justified in issuing 
commands upon the point, and she seemed to be much 
amused by the peremptory tone in which I informed 
her that I should permit no matrimonial alliance on her 
part, save one of affection. 

“ Poor old Phil ! ” she said ; “ how do you suppose 
that you can prevent me from accepting the first benev- 
olent old gentleman who asks me ? Two of them have 
already honored me by offers. I seem destined to 
captivate elderly admirers.” 

“ But you have refused them ? ” I said apprehen- 
sively. 

“ Oh, yes ; I have refused them both — more shame 
for me ! Nothing is so immoral or so deteriorating as 
to make resolutions and then break them for want of a 
pinch of courage. But never mind me just now ; my 
prospects can be discussed any day during the next 
two or three months, and so can yours. We have no 
time to lose, though, if we want to preserve the duke 
from ” 

Her sentence was interrupted by the abrupt throwing 
open of the drawing-room door and the entrance of two 
persons who were apparently in the midst of a heated 
altercation. Through the apertures of the carved screen 
I could see Miss St. George in her riding-habit and the 


206 


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angry face of Lady Deverell ; but neither of the ladies 
saw me : otherwise I am sure that the elder would not 
have said, in a loud, clear voice : 

“ It is nonsense to pretend that you have not deceived 
me, Leila, because you now admit having met him. If 
you had told me before you started that you were going 
out on purpose to meet him, you might claim to have 
behaved honestly.” 

“ Only then you wouldn’t have let me go,” Miss St. 
George observed. 

“ Most certainly I should not. Good gracious, Leila, 
can’t you understand that you are making yourself per- 
fectly ridiculous, besides endangering your chance of 
marrying really well ? I can assure you that you will 
never marry the Duke of Hurstbourne, because I shall 
take measures to prevent that, if you drive me to employ 
them ; but my firm belief is that he won’t propose to 
you. Are you so blind as not to see that he has lost 
his heart to poor little Nora Martyn ? I don’t say that 
he will make a duchess of her — that would be too 
absurd ; although the poor child may be silly enough 
to fancy that he will.” 

I confess that I should have been in honor bound to 
sneeze before that, if I could have managed it ; but it 
takes a few moments to get up a thoroughly natural 
and effective sneeze. Under cover of the tremendous 
hullabaloo which I presently succeeded in raising Nora 
made good her escape, while I stepped smilingly forth 
from my ambush to face the disconcerted ladies. They 
must have felt disconcerted, and one of them looked 
so ; the other, I am forced by the veracity incumbent 
upon a conscientious historian to admit, did not. Miss 
St. George had one of her usual vague nods at my ser- 


HIS GRACE. 


207 


vice and, as usual, gave me to understand that my value 
in her estimation, whether as a visitor or as an eaves- 
dropper, amounted exactly to Zero. 

“ If you haven't anything more to say just at present, 
I’ll go upstairs and change,” she remarked to her aunt, 
and so left me to receive Lady Deverell's apologies, of 
which I was not defrauded. 

Lady Deverell was ashamed of herself, and admitted 
as much with a candor which disarmed attack. “ Peo- 
ple have no business to hide behind screens, and listen- 
ers hear no good of themselves,” she continued ; “ but 
I am very sorry that you overheard what I said just 
now. Nevertheless, it was the truth, you know.” 

“ The truth that Hurstbourne has lost his heart to 
Nora, but that it would be too absurd to credit him 
with any intention of marrying her ? ” I asked. 

“ Oh, well, of course I shouldn’t have used those 
words in speaking to you ; but if you are not aware 
of the facts, you really ought to have been aware of 
them.” 

“ Such is my density,” I replied, “ that what you 
call facts have remained and still remain, unacknowl- 
edged by me. Supposing them to be facts, they make 
you out a trustworthy sort of chaperon, don’t they ? ” 

Lady Deverell sat down and began to defend her- 
self against accusations which I had not made. 

“ It is all very well to abuse me,” said she ; “ but I 
have done the best I could, and it happens to be my 
duty to take care of my niece as well as your sister. 
I don’t see that I am to blame for having taken a lit- 
tle advantage of that young man's infatuation. If 
Nora had taken a fancy to him, it might have been 
different j but she hasn’t.” 


208- 


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“ How do you know that ? ” I inquired. 

“ I have eyes and ears ; I have seen her with him 
and heard a good deal of what she has said to him. 
Like other girls, she thinks it a fine thing to have cap- 
tivated a duke ; but I really don’t believe that she 
would marry him, even if he were to propose to her. 
It is only fair to Nora to say that I have always recog- 
nized her keen sense of right and wrong.” 

“ I wish,” I remarked, “ that yours were equally 
keen. It is only fair to myself to say that I consider 
you a most immoral old lady.” 

“ Very well,” returned Lady Deverell, with a short 
laugh ; “ under the circumstances, you are entitled to 
be rude, and we won’t quarrel over it. I know you 
don’t like me, and, frankly speaking, I don’t much like 
you ; still I am not quite so bad as you suppose. 1 
wouldn’t place Nora’s happiness in jeopardy even for 
the sake of that tiresome and perverse girl Leila ; I 
have profited by the course of events, that is all.” 

I had never liked Lady Deverell so well as I did at 
that moment. She was really an immoral old lady ; 
but her fighting instincts were those of the good old 
race to which she belonged, and if she could only 
have made up her mind to cast aside all affectation of 
being religious she probably would not have been a 
worse member of the community than other dowagers. 
We concluded a sort of armed truce, and she begged 
me not to make mischief by repeating to Nora a frag- 
ment of conversation which had never been intended 
to reach my ears. I thought it unnecessary to men- 
tion that the screen which had concealed me at the 
time had likewise concealed my sister. 

I was walking down St. James’s Street, on my way 


ItlS GRACE 


209 


to lunch at the club, when I encountered Hurstbourne, 
who stopped me in order to say excitedly : “ Look 
here, old chap ; I’ll give you a real good tip for once. 
Back Mock Turtle for all you’re worth. He can’t lose, 
and I can get you 2 to 1 even now.” 

I shook my head and declined the tempting offer. 
I know very little about racing ; but I was dimly aware 
that Mock Turtle was one of the horses that Hurst- 
bourne had bought with their engagements and that 
the animal was entered for some race or other in the 
forthcoming Sandown meeting. 

" Have you backed him for all you’re worth ? ,: I 
asked. 

“ That wouldn’t be much, would it ? ” he laughed. 
“ I’ve backed him pretty heavily, though, and I’ve 
backed The Crocodile too for the other event — which 
isn’t an absolute certainty, I confess.” He paused 
for a moment, tapping his boot with his cane and gaz- 
ing down the street. “ By the way,” he resumed, 
“ you’re coming with us to old Mother Deverell’s hop 
next Thursday, aren’t you ? ” 

“ I shouldn’t think I was,” I answered ; “ as far as I 
know, I haven’t been invited.” 

“ Of course you have been invited, and of course 
you’ll have to come. These two blessed races will be 
over by then, and I shall know better how I stand 
than I do now.” 

I don’t know whether he meant me to infer that, if 
Mock Turtle won, he would take that opportunity of 
proposing to Miss St. George. He looked as if he 
wouldn’t mind being questioned — which, I daresay, 
was why I abstained from questioning him. I was 
out of all patience with him, and that is the truth. 

14 


210 


HIS GRACE. 


Perhaps I was out of patience with Nora and with 
Lady Deverell and with myself to boot. There are 
moments when the ridiculous and uncalled-for con- 
trariety of things is too much for the patience even 
of a man who is at once prosaic and a poet. 


JsJS GRACE. 


211 


CHAPTER XVII. 

HURSTBOURNE HAS MANY WARNINGS. 

I had the effrontery to call myself a poet in the 
last paragraph of the last chapter, and I don’t know 
that my presumption was any the more excusable 
because I qualified it by the statement that I was a 
prosaic poet. I hasten to substitute the assertion 
that I am — or at least once was — a prosaic rhymester, 
which is a more intelligible definition than the other. 
What, I have sometimes wondered, are the constituent 
qualities of a true poet ? I am not going to admit that 
facility of expression is one of them, because that may 
be acquired, readily in some cases, slowly and pain- 
fully in others, by everybody, just as everybody may 
learn to play the piano after a fashion. But I suppose 
that one essential attribute of the true poet is a certain 
insight into the byways of human nature which can never 
be learnt by the majority of his fellow-creatures, though 
many of them may be quite as well able as he to distin- 
guish black from white and A from B. Had I been 
gifted with as much of that faculty as was required for 
reading the not very recondite thoughts of such persons 
as Nora and Hurstbourne and Lady Deverell and Miss 
St. George, I should doubtless have felt less perturbed 
about them all than I did ; but the more I reflected 


212 


HIS GRACE. 


the more uncertain I became as to what they would be 
at, and this naturally rendered me down-hearted, as 
well as a trifle cross. Moreover, the control of events 
seemed to have been absolutely removed from my 
hands ; so that, like a weary play-goer, I was chiefly 
anxious to reach a foregone conclusion, to see the 
curtain fall and have done with it. 

The fall of the curtain was not unlikely to take place 
at Sandown ; but I declined to accompany Hurstbourne 
thither, pleading as an excuse that I was not a member 
of the club and that I preferred, for choice, to escape 
the contumely with which outsiders are treated on that 
exclusive pleasure-ground. Lady Charles also, for 
once, decided to remain at home. It was a very hot 
day, and she was tired, she said. She certainly looked 
so. Probably it had at length dawned upon her that 
her son had made a most stupendous fool of himself, 
and, for all I know, she may have begun to realize that 
she herself had been in a large measure to blame for 
his folly. It did not really signify, because the milk 
was spilt, and there was no more use in crying over it 
than there was in snapping at me. She did snap at 
me when we met at the luncheon hour — it was not often 
that she behaved in that way, poor, good-natured soul ! 
— and I will not deny that I snapped back at her. If 
our nerves were on edge, and if we both expected to 
hear of a catastrophe before dinner-time, we had no 
great cause to feel penitent or to ask pardon of one 
another. 

However, that good Lady Charles’s conscience must 
have been tenderer than mine ; for about six o’clock 
she sent to beg that I would come downstairs and have 
a cup of tea with her, and when I appeared, in obedi> 


HIS GRACE. 


213 


ence to her request, she apologized, a little awkwardly 
yet quite sufficiently, for having been rude to me 
earlier in the day. 

“ To tell you the truth, Mr. Martyn,” said she, “ I am 
not happy about his Grace. I am afraid he is spend- 
ing more money than he ought.” 

“ There is no doubt about that,” I replied ; “ I have 
been warning him that he was doing so for a long time 
past ; but I can’t do more than warn him. I wish it 
had occurred to you to do as much a little sooner.” 

She sighed and remarked, with a queer mixture of 
regret and complacency, that I perhaps didn’t under- 
stand the hereditary tendency of the family. “ The 
Gascoignes,” said she, “ have been generous and open- 
handed from time immemorial. His father was just the 
same, and so, I must say was the late duke ; although 

But, at all events, such is the family disposition, 

and it isn’t a disposition to be ashamed of, after all.” 

“ It is a disposition which requires to be supported 
by large revenues,” I observed. “ Mr. Paul Gascoigne 
appears to have obtained the revenues and escaped 
the generic taint.” 

“Well, you wouldn’t wish Arthur to resemble him, 
I should hope ! ” 

“ No — except in respect of income. But as you 
and Hurstbourne are agreed in despising him, why are 
you so desperately bent upon rivalling him ? I believe 
two-thirds, if not the whole, of these embarrassments 
are due to your insane attempt to pit a poor man 
against a rich one on the very field where the rich 
man is sure of ultimate victory. ” 

“ Not at all ! ” returned Lady Charles, with some 
animation. “ Fight him we must, and Arthur is quite 


214 


HIS GRACE. 


right to fight him; but it isn’t only by spending as 
much money as he does that we hope to show him that 
he is not invincible.” 

“ The common household flea, ’ I ventured to re- 
mark, “ is not invincible ; yet one doesn’t expend one’s 
life and one’s fortune and any little intelligence that one 
may possess in stooping to conquer him. A simpler 
and better plan is to avoid his haunts.” 

I should doubtless have proceeded to the utterance 
of further indiscretions had not my oration been cut 
short by the entrance of Hurstbourne, who bounced into 
the room, with a radiant countenance and a pair of 
field-glasses slung over his shoulder, to announce that 
Mock Turtle had proved worthy of the confidence 
reposed in him by his backers. 

“ It looked like a near thing,” he told us, “ but the 
horse really won as he chose, and I believe the poor 
old Crocodile would have about won his race too, if he 
hadn’t been a bit unlucky. Well, one mustn’t be greedy; 
it’s something to have pulled off the big event isn’t it ? ” 

He was so elated that I had not the cruelty to inquire 
what might be the exact pecuniary result of having 
pulled off the big event, nor did he volunteer any more 
mercenary details for our benefit. The nearest ap- 
proach that he made to a statement bearing upon that 
point was when he remarked exultingly : 

“ This will be a rare sell for Paul Gascoigne ! He was 
going about all over the place yesterday, telling people 
that I was broke, and pretending to be deeply afflicted. 
He’d be afflicted without any pretence if he knew how 
many thousands more to the good I am this evening 
than I was when he spoke.” 

So we gave ourselves up to triumph and mutual con- 


HIS GRACE. 


2I 5 


gratulation, and it was not until next morning that I 
took leave to beg for more specific information. It then 
appeared that Hurstbourne really had won a rather 
large sum of money in bets ; the stakes did not seem to 
have been worth very much. Whether his success was 
a thing to rejoice over or not depended entirely upon 
the view that he might take and the use that he might 
make of it. It would be of no sort of service to him or 
anybody else if it only enabled him to go on living in 
the same way for a few more months ; and this was 
what I strove to impress upon him while we were driv- 
ing together in a hansom towards the city, where we 
had some business to transact with his lawyers. 

“ Well, hang it all, Martyn ! ” he exclaimed reproach- 
fully, “ it’s better to have won than to have lost ; you’ll 
allow that surely ! What a dogged old wet blanket you 
are ! ” 

“ I shouldn’t always be a wet blanket if the chimney 
wasn’t always on fire,” I returned ; “ it’s worth while to 
maintain that unpleasant character if I can prevent the 
house from being burnt down.” 

“Ah, but can you ? Why not be jolly until the con- 
flagration sets in ? It’s bound to come, I expect, and 
we’re prepared for it — my mother and I. I daresay we 
shall manage to make ourselves tolerably comfortable 
among the ashes ; it won’t be an altogether novel exper- 
ience to us, you see. Anyhow, we can’t be prudent 
and penurious until we’re forced to be so. We aren’t 
made that way.” 

“ There is no accounting for tastes,” I sighed, “ and if 
it were only a question of you and your mother ” 

He understood my delicate allusion, for he laughed 
and declared that it wasn’t yet a question of anybody 


2l6 


HIS GRACE. 


else. To be sure, it might be because there was such 
a thing as disinterested affection, although of course a 
fellow whose mind was so warped by unreasoning hatred 
of women as mine was wouldn’t believe it. He did 
not, he made haste to add, flatter himself that he had 
inspired any woman with sentiments of disinterested 
affection. 

“ I wouldn’t, if I were you,” I responded dryly. 
“ Such an illusion as that would be liable to be rudely 
dispelled from one moment to another.” 

The idea of Miss St. George manifesting disinterested 
affection by taking up her abode upon a cinder-heap 
with the man of her choice was really a little bit too 
comic. 

Our conference with the lawyers had a somewhat so- 
bering effect upon Hurstbourne, who, I take it, did not 
want to be reduced to downright poverty, and who, 
notwithstanding his brave words, probably did not 
believe altogether in the imminence of such a melan- 
choly event. We agreed to walk home, and, as we 
paced along the Embankment, I talked to him with a 
seriousness which he professed himself able to appre- 
ciate. 

“ Only, you know,” said he, “ I can’t begin cutting 
things down to-morrow. Let’s get to the end of the 
season, and then we’ll see. I suppose you won’t 
understand what I mean ; but it’s a sort of point of 
honor with me not to cave in to Paul Gascoigne.” 

I confessed my utter inability to understand what 
Mr. Gascoigne had to do with his cousin’s annual 
expenditure ; whereupon Hurstbourne burst out laugh- 
ing and declared that it wasn’t a bit of good to argue 
with a man who was so beastly literal. Doubtless he 


HIS GRACE. 


217 


was right. Nothing could be gained by argument 
when the real premises were not before us, and I 
could only hope that Miss St. George, who was far 
more competent to undertake the task than I, would 
ere long convince him of the vanity of his ambitions. 

By the time that we had reached Whitehall we had 
abandoned the subject of finance. We were progress- 
ing along that thoroughfare, keeping up a desultory 
conversation upon topics of general interest, when 
whom. should we encounter but the very insufficient 
fount and origin of all our woes. Mr. Gascoigne was 
evidently on his way towards Westminster, and looked 
the earnest legislator all over, with his unbuttoned 
frock-coat and his neat umbrella, which he carried 
over his shoulder, in imitation of a distinguished 
statesman with whose policy he seldom finds himself 
in accord. Nothing, I should think, can possibly 
prevent Mr. Gascoigne from becoming Chancellor of 
the Duchy of Lancaster some day. He was in plenty 
of time ; and that, no doubt, was why he condescended 
to pull up and and shake hands with us both. 

“ Well, Arthur,” said he, “ you were lucky, for once, 
at Sandown yesterday I am glad to hear.” 

“ I won one race and lost another ; I didn’t do badly 
on the day,” answered Hurstbourne. “ I don’t know 
why you should be glad to hear of it, though.” 

“ I am always glad to hear of your having been suc- 
cessful,” was Mr. Gascoigne’s bland rejoinder. “ I only 
wish you gave me more frequent occasions for rejoicing 
on that score.” 

“ Oh, I’ll make you rejoice once or twice yet before 
I die,” retorted Hurstbourne grimly. Hurstbourne is 
as pretty a fighter as anybody could wish to see ; but 


2l8 


HIS GRACE. 


he requires the fleuret de combat, he doesn’t excite 
admiration when the buttons are on the foils. 

My eyes were upon Paul Gascoigne’s face, and for 
one instant I saw him look very nasty indeed ; but he 
knew how to control himself, and it was in his custom- 
ary tone of composed affability that he said : “ You 

are going to Lady Deverell’s ball to-night, I sup- 
pose ? ” 

“ Yes, I am,” replied Hurstbourne curtly. “ Are 
you ? ” 

“ I hope so. I may be detained rather late in the 
House ; but I shall try to put in an appearance during 
the course of the evening. Lady Deverell and Miss 
St. George kindly made such a point of my being there 
that I mustn’t break faith with them.” 

Hurstbourne hailed a passing hansom and jumped 
into it. Unlike his cousin, he had little or no self-con- 
trol, and I think he often ran away, as it were, from his 
temper, fearing lest it might lead him into doing or say- 
ing something that he might afterwards regret. 

“ Are you coming home, Martyn ? ” he called out. 

“ Not just yet,” I answered ; “ I have one or two 
things to do first.” 

I really had one or two things to do ; but it was not 
so much on that account that I allowed him to drive 
away alone as because I knew by a sort of intuition 
that Mr. Gascoigne wanted to speak to me. So strong 
was that impression on my part that, as soon as I was 
left upon the pavement with the recently elected M.P., 
I said somewhat abruptly : “ Well, what is it ? ” 

He smiled and remarked : “ You are really very 
quick, Mr. Martyn ; yes ; it is quite true that I am glad 
to have this opportunity of saying a few words to you 


HIS GRACE. 


219 


about Arthur. It would be idle to blink at the fact 
that he and I are — simply and solely through his choice 
— in the position of antagonists, and I daresay I may 
assume that you are on his side in an antagonism 
which I am unaware of having done anything to pro- 
voke. It is just because you are on his side, because 
you are a friend of his and because you are believed 
to have influence over him, that I am anxious to convey 
a hint to him through you to which he certainly would 
not listen if it were to come directly from me. I am 
not, believe me, malicious ; I have no desire to injure 
him ; but I believe that I have it in my power to injure 
him somewhat seriously, and circumstances may arise 
which will leave me no option but to exercise that 
power. To speak quite candidly, I allude to his atten- 
tions to Miss St. George. For reasons upon which I 
need not enter, those attentions are as disagreeable to 
me as they are to the young lady’s aunt ; and they 
really must be discontinued. If they are not, I fear 
that I shall be driven, much against my will, to have 
recourse to the measures at which I have hinted.” 

“ I don’t call that speaking quite candidly,” I replied. 
“One would like to have something more definite 
than a hint before taking upon oneself to meddle with 
other people’s affairs.” 

“ Quite so ; but it will be obvious to you that I cannot 
be more explicit without betraying what I trust may 
remain a family secret. Arthur, I have no doubt, has 
told you of a conversation which I had with him at 
Lavenham ; I must leave you to draw your own con- 
clusions as to the nature of the secret in question.” 

“ I understand, then,” said I, “ that your threat is 
this: your cousin is to stop flirting with Miss St. 


220 


HIS GRACE . 


George or else you will circulate some scandalous story, 
true or false, about his father ; and although you failed 
to frighten him by that threat, you think I may do so. 
I am obliged to you for your considerate suggestion ; 
but I am not going to take advantage of it ; and I will 
tell you why. I don’t believe you can prove anything ; 
had you been able to do so, you would have come for- 
ward with your proofs long before this.’* 

“ Do you imagine, Mr. Martyn,” asked Mr. Gascoigne 
gravely, “ that the credit of the family name counts for 
nothing with me ? ” 

“ It can’t count for much,” I rejoined, “ since you 
propose to sacrifice it unless you are gratified by a sur- 
render which certainly will not be made. I couldn’t 
ask Hurstbourne to make that surrender even if I 
believed in your power to throw discredit upon anybody 
except yourself. But I don’t. Good-morning.” 

I marched off with my head in the air and with per- 
fect consciousness of having made a foe. It did not, 
however, seem likely that Mr. Gascoigne would ever 
be able to do me much harm, while he would assuredly 
do Hurstbourne all the harm that he could, whether 
his conditions were complied with or not. Therefore 
I did not think that I had been guilty of a diplomatic 
error by dealing with him in that high and mighty 
fashion ; nor did I deem it advisable to report a menace 
to which I was disposed to attach very little impor- 
tance. 

Both Hurstbourne and Lady Charles were dining 
out that evening and had, I believe, other engagements 
as well ; so that I did not go with them to Lady Dev- 
erell’s ball. It was close upon midnight when I arrived 
in Upper Grosvenor Street ; for I had not hurried 


HIS GRACE. 


221 


myself, knowing that my personal participation in the 
revels would be of that passive kind which soon palls 
upon the participator. The street was blocked with 
carriages and the house with guests, insomuch that it 
took me a good ten minutes to reach the landing at 
the top of the stairs, the nose of my hostess, late reful- 
gens , serving me as a beacon towards which to shape 
my course. I gathered that she must have been blow- 
ing it more than usual, and consequently that she must 
be more than usually out of temper, which indeed, I 
found to be the case as soon as I joined her. 

“ Oh, how do you do ? ” she said in an acrimonious 
tone. “ Your sister has been inquiring for you ; she 
thought you weren’t coming. The Duke of Hurst- 
bourne has been here for ever so long. He seems bent 
upon making a night of it.” 

I edged my way on towards the ballroom without 
stopping to ask her to explain herself. I know what 
women are when their tempers have been upset ; they 
are just like certain breeds of dogs, who, the moment 
that they have become excited, must needs bite some- 
body and would as soon bite their best friend as any- 
body else. Hurstbourne, I presumed from Lady 
Deverell’s remarks, was making fierce love to Miss 
St. George somewhere or other ; but I really couldn’t 
help it if he was. The utmost that I could do was to 
see for myself what he was about, and then endeavor 
to restrain the noble ire of Mr. Paul Gascoigne, sup- 
posing that gentleman to be present. However, it was 
some little time before I could see anything, except 
the backs and heads of persons immediately in front 
of me. It was all very well for Lady Charles Gas- 
coigne to assert that Lady Deverell knew nobody, and 


222 


HIS GRACE . 


possibly she did not know the smartest of the smart ; 
but she had contrived to get together an enormous 
number of people, amongst whom I recognized (from 
having had the privilege of gazing at their photographs 
in the shop-windows) quite a respectable sprinkling of 
notabilities. Her ball was very well done too ; the 
flowers alone must have cost her as much money as 
would have provided me with the necessaries of life 
for six months. 

While I was making my little observations the music 
ceased, and presently Nora, in the wake of other 
couples, passed close beside me. She at once disen- 
gaged herself from the arm of her cavalier to take pos- 
session of mine, whispering : “ Let us get out of this 
for a minute, Phil ; I want to speak to you.” 

After we had extricated ourselves with a struggle 
from the surging throng, I led her, or rather she led 
me, to the extreme top of the staircase, where we seated 
ourselves upon the floor, in accordance with what, I am 
given to understand, is the custom, and having indeed 
nothing else to sit upon. 

“ Well,” she began somewhat impatiently, “ have you 
done anything ? ” 

“ Done anything ? ” I repeated. “ No ; I haven’t done 
anything particular that I am aware of. I haven’t 
warned Hurstbourne off from the neighborhood of Miss 
St. George, if that is what you mean. I don’t much 
believe in the danger ; but if I did believe in it, the 
very last thing that I should do would be to wave a 
danger-flag before his eyes.” 

“ The danger is real, Phil, whether you believe in it 
or not. He has been dancing with her the whole even- 
ing. I don’t exactly know what you mean by waving 


HIS GRACE. 


223 


danger-flags ; but I should have thought you might at 
least have told him what you and I overheard the other 
day. That, surely, would have opened his eyes.” 

“ To what, my dear ? To the agreeable circumstance 
that Lady Deverell and Miss St. George had noticed 
the very thing that he was anxious to force upon their 
notice, and that you had played the part which he was 
graciously pleased to assign to you to perfection ? ” 

“ No ; only perhaps to the fact that he has treated 
me as no gentleman ought to treat a friend.” 

“ Ah, that is another matter,” I said. “ If you 
wanted me to mention that to him, you should have 
said so, and I’m not sure that I shouldn’t have obeyed 
your instructions. But I understood that you regarded 
him and his flirtations with absolute indifference.” 

“ That only means that you are vexed with me, as 
well as with him, and that you won’t stir a finger to 
help either of us. I thought you were a better friend 
than that, Phil.” 

“ I am a friend like another,” I replied rather crossly 
(for I suppose the truth was that she had drawn a fairly 
accurate sketch of my mental condition) ; “ only it 
seems to me that friendship implies some sort of reci- 
procity. I have told Hurstbourne over and over again 
that he will be an ass to propose to Miss St. George : 
what more can I do ? If you think I should prove my 
friendship for you or for him by telling him that, in 
your opinion and mine, he has behaved very like a cad 
to you, I am willing to go that length. It will be a 
little bit humiliating to have to do it, though.” 

“ I daresay it would — and I daresay it wouldn’t an- 
swer our purpose either,” agreed Nora, getting up. 
“ All I know is that I, personally, have submitted to as 


224 


HIS GRACE. 


much humiliation as I can bear ; he has reached the 
end of my patience. I shouldn't so much have minded 
his dancing with me and sitting out dances with me 
and all that, if he hadn’t thought it necessary to play 
the whole comedy. It wasn’t necessary. He might 
just as well have talked about hunting or about any- 
thing else that would have given us the appearance of 
being deeply interested in one another ; but, instead of 
that, he must needs say things which — well, I am not 
going to let him speak to me again as he spoke this 
evening, even to keep him out of the reach of Miss St. 
George’s clutches.” 

This was pleasant hearing for an already irate brother. 
I was about to demand a fuller explanation when 
Hurstbourne himself ran breathlessly up the last flight 
of stairs to join us. 

“ So there you are, Miss Nora ! ” he exclaimed ; “ I 
hope you feel ashamed of yourself. You can’t have 
forgotten that you promised me the dance which is just 
over.” 

“ Is it over ? ” she returned. “ Then I may as well 
sit down again.” And she suited the action to the 
word. “ Phil and I are enjoying ourselves together,” 
she added ; “ we mustn’t keep you in this remote spot, 
or you won’t be able to find your partner for the next 
dance.” 

He stared at her with a comical mixture of surprise 
and penitence. “ What have I done ? ” he asked. 
“ Why am I to be first thrown over and then kicked 
downstairs ? ” 

One often laughs when one is not feeling particularly 
merry. His phrase brought to my memory a familiar 
quotation the first words of which struck me as so pain- 


HIS GRACE. 


225 


fully, ludicrously appropriate that I burst into one of 
those abrupt guffaws for which I have all my life en- 
joyed an unenviable celebrity. By the time that I 
had composed myself Hurstbourne was half-way down 
towards the landing, looking extremely huffy, while 
Nora’s pale cheeks were suffused with the rosy hue of 
wrath. The uproar of my own hilarity had prevented 
me from hearing what passed between them ; but no 
doubt she had given him the recollection of a waspish 
speech to take away with him. 

She left my side almost immediately afterwards, a 
partner having come up to claim her, and during the 
rest of the evening I saw her only from a distance. 
From a distance also I surveyed the other actors in the 
little drama with which I was concerned — Miss St. 
George, who looked superbly handsome and triumphant, 
Hurstbourne, who seemed to be in one of his reckless 
moods, and the future Chancellor of the Duchy of Lan- 
caster, at whose elbow black Care had evidently sta- 
tioned herself. By watching the pantomime which 
unfolded itself at intervals before me I could form a 
pretty shrewd conjecture at what they were all doing 
and saying ; sometimes they were together, sometimes 
one of them (Paul Gascoigne) was left out in the cold ; 
once I fancied that there was a sort of incipient alter- 
cation between him and Hurstbourne ; but it came to 
nothing, and shortly after two o’clock the politician 
went away — beaten out of the field, I assumed. I 
hardly know why I myself lingered on until sunrise. 
Perhaps I wanted to walk home with Hurstbourne, 
(Lady Charles had long since departed), and to hear 
the worst from his lips. Anyhow, I did wait for him ; 
and one result of my having done so was that I was 


226 


HIS GRACE . 


present when he at last took leave of his hostess. He 
congratulated her upon the success of her ball, and 
said it had been “ awfully jolly.” 

“I am glad you have enjoyed yourself,” she re- 
turned, glaring at him, “ because you will never enjoy 
yourself in this house again, nor will you ever dance 
with Leila again. I cautioned you at supper-time that 
I wouldn’t have it ; but, for reasons best known to 
yourself, you have chosen to defy me. So much the 
worse for you. You don’t understand ; but you will 
before this time to-morrow. Don’t blame me, that’s 
all ; I gave you fair warning, remember.” 

“ What can she have meant ? ” I asked Hurstbourne, 
as we left the house. 

“ I really don’t know, and I really don’t care,” he 
answered, laughing and lighting a cigar ; “ I suppose 
she meant that she was in a devil of a rage.” 

After all, I might as well have gone to bed some 
hours earlier ; for he gave me no chance of interrogat- 
ing him. He belonged to one of those clubs which 
are kept open all night, and thither he now saw fit to 
betake himself, remarking that it was too late or too 
early for respectable people to be seen entering their 
homes. Probably he did not wish to be interrogated. 


HIS GRACE. 


227 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

ASSAULT AND BATTERY. 

One does not pretend — at least I don’t pretend — 
to solve all the enigmas which are forever cropping 
up before one, as one wends one’s straightforward way 
through the intricacies of a complicated world. Some 
of them are not worth solving ; others demand a sacri- 
fice of time and ingenuity which cannot be bestowed 
upon them ; all things considered, it is best, as a gen- 
eral rule, to wait for the development of events. So, 
although I do not deny that my curiosity had been 
stimulated by several of the episodes which had marked 
Lady DeverelPs ball, I made no effort to allay it, know- 
ing very well that I should hear all I wanted to hear 
before I was much older. 

As a matter of fact, I had to wait no longer than 
until the ensuing afternoon, when Hurstbourne entered 
my little writing-room, carrying a letter in his hand, 
which he said he wished me to read. 

“ It was brought to me half an hour ago,” he ex- 
plained. “ I shouldn’t wonder if the whole thing was 
an infernal lie ; but whether it’s a lie, or whether it’s 
true, it must be looked into. Just read what the fellow 
says, and give me your opinion about it, will you ? ” 


228 


HIS GRACE. 


11 The fellow, I presume,” said I, as I took the 
document handed to me, “ is Mr. Gascoigne.” 

Hurstbourne nodded. He looked very savage and 
very cool. He is one of those favored mortals who 
grow cool when they are really angry. “ I won’t express 
my opinion or my intentions yet,” he remarked. “ Read 
his letter and judge for yourself what you would do in 
my place.” 

The letter, which bore signs of being a painstaking 
composition, ran as follows : 

“ My dear Cousin : — 

“ It would, I fear, be an almost hopeless task to con- 
vince you that, in adopting the course which I feel 
constrained to adopt, I am actuated by no sentiments 
of personal unfriendliness towards you. You have 
persistently, though erroneously, credited me with such 
sentiments, and I am not sanguine enough to expect 
that this communication will be attributed by you to 
any other motive. Nevertheless, you will probably 
understand that I should not, if I could see my way 
to avoid it, act in such a manner as to cast a slur upon 
the family to which we both belong. Having premised 
that much, I will state my case in as few words as 
possible. 

“ You have not, I am sure, forgotten a conversation 
which took place between us at Lavenham upon the 
subject of the late Lord Charles Gascoigne. Like the 
rest of the world, you must have surmised that my 
uncle would not for so many years have refused to 
recognize his brother without good and sufficient 
reasons, and that those reasons, if divulged, would in 
all likelihood prove less creditable to Lord Charles 


HIS GRACE. 


229 


than to the duke. From information which had come 
to my ears at the time, I was inclined to take that 
view, but I was not then, as I am now, in possession 
of irrefragable proofs wherewith to support it. Con- 
sequently, when you assumed an indignant attitude 
(for which, I assure you, I did not hold you in the 
least to blame), I felt that I was in honor bound to with- 
draw what you stigmatized as offensive insinuations. 
I am otherwise situated to-day, since I have before me a 
document, written and signed by my late Uncle Charles, 
which places my suspicions beyond all reach of con- 
tradiction. I am unwilling to cause you any unneces- 
sary pain ; still when a fact has to be stated, it is per- 
haps less cruel to state it without ambiguity than to 
beat about the bush. In plain words, then, your 
father was a forger. He forged his brother’s name to 
a check for a considerable amount ; he was detected 
and he was pardoned. That is to say that the duke 
pardoned him in so far as to pay the money and to 
make him an annual allowance until his marriage with 
a lady of large private means rendered an allowance 
superfluous. He declined, however, to see or speak to 
him again, and, as you are aware, he did not choose to 
run the risk of nominating a forger’s son as his heir. 
The late duke was a singularly just and clear-headed 
man. He was also, in my poor judgment, singularly 
generous. The promise of secrecy which he gave to 
his brother was never violated by him, I am persuaded, 
either in word or in implication. 

“ You may ask why, under these circumstances, I 
should write to you with the evident idea of breaking 
an engagement which I may be said to have in some 
sort inherited. The question is a reasonable one, and 


230 


HIS GRACE. 


I will at once give my answer ; although you will prob- 
ably have anticipated it. Certainly I do not wish the 
world to be informed that an uncle of mine was an 
unconvicted felon, and certainly I shall withhold that 
information if it be in my power to do so. But I have 
not only myself to consider in this matter. Without 
going into motives to which, I fear, you would attach 
scant credence, I am, I think, entitled at least to say 
that a lady for whom I entertain a high regard must 
not be permitted to accept in ignorance the hand of a 
man of your parentage. Such, at any rate, is the light 
in which my duty presents itself to me. Desist from 
your attentions to Miss St. George, and your secret 
shall be safe ; continue them, and I shall be compelled 
to speak out. Believe me, I sympathize with you in 
your dilemma, which has not been of my creating ; but 
pray believe me also when I assure you that my de- 
termination is unalterable. 

“ I have only to add that, should you be disinclined 
to accept my word for the facts, I will willingly show 
you the letter to which I have referred, and that I 
shall remain at home during the whole of this after- 
noon in case of your desiring to see me. 

“ I am, my dear cousin, 

“Very faithfully yours, 

“ Paul Gascoigne.” 

“ Well,” said Hurstbourne, when I folded up this 
gracefully-worded epistle and restored it to him, “ what 
do you think of that ? ” 

“ What could anybody think ? ” I returned, sorrow- 
fully. “ The man must have his proofs, or he never 
would have dared to write in that way. I don’t know 


HIS GRACE. 


2 3 


why the sins of the fathers should be visited upon the 
children ; it seems to me a most unjust and abominable 
law ; but I suppose it is one of the laws by which the 
course of this world has always been governed. You 
will have to give in, my poor fellow. After all, I can’t 
bring myself to call the terms of surrender hard, and 
depend upon it, you won’t call them so a short time 
hence.” 

But Hurstbourne, as I might have known, was not 
the man to surrender upon any terms, hard or easy, so 
long as he had a kick left in him. 

“We’ll see about giving in when we are beaten,” 
he remarked, with a grim look about the corners of his 
mouth. “ I can’t tell at present whether Paul Gas- 
coigne is a liar or only a cowardly sneak ; but I’ll find 
out presently. I’m going round to his house, and 
you’ll have to come with me, Martyn.” 

“ I don’t see in what way my presence is likely to 
be of use,” I answered. “ If the family dirty linen is 
to be washed, it had better be washed in private ; and 
I’m afraid I shouldn’t act as a restraining force upon 
Mr. Gascoigne, supposing that he has made up his 
mind to go in for a public display.” 

Hurstbourne said that wasn’t the question. Of course 
no representations on my part, or on the part of any 
other man who had the feelings of a gentleman, would 
avail to shake the purpose of that self-satisfied cad : 
but there were occasions on which it was as well to be 
provided with a witness. 

“ Besides,” he added, “ I may want you. I shouldn’t 
wonder if there was going to be a row, and in a row 
a long-armed, muscular chap like you is pretty apt to 
be valuable.” 


232 


HIS GRACE. 


This was indeed a pleasing prospect. Was I to be 
asked to knock Mr. Paul Gascoigne, M. P., down and 
sit on his head while Hurstbourne rifled his pockets? 
Anyhow, I thought I had better accompany him, not 
as an aggressor but as a peacemaker, and accordingly 
I made no further protest. 

The doors of the spacious mansion in Park Lane 
which had served several successive Dukes of Hurst- 
bourne as a London residence, and where Paul Gas- 
coigne now dwelt all by himself, were thrown open to re- 
ceive us, and we were conducted across a waste of faded 
Turkey carpet to a somewhat sombre study, in which 
the eminent legislator was discovered seated at his 
writing-table and apparently immersed in correspon- 
dence. He rose and held out his hand to Hurstbourne 
(who did not seem to notice it), while he honored me 
with a bow of faintly surprised recognition. 

“ I suppose, Arthur,” he began mellifluously, “ you 
have come in consequence of my letter ? I think it 
was quite wise of you to come, and I am glad you have 
done so ; but — wouldn’t it be almost better for us to 
have our little talk without an audience ? ” 

“ Mr. Martyn,” replied Hurstbourne, “ has seen your 
letter and knows all about it. For reasons of my own, 
I preferred to bring him with me, and anything that 
you have to say may just as well be said before him 
as not.” 

“ Pray please yourself,” returned Mr. Gascoigne in 
the same suave accents ; “ it was on your account not 
on my own, that I objected, and I have no doubt that 
you are justified in placing implicit reliance upon Mr. 
Martyn’s discretion. Since he has seen my letter, it 
is unnecessary for me to acquaint him with the very 


HIS GRACE. 


233 


painful and — er — shameful event about which I had to 
write to you, and I daresay I may assume that you and 
he have called in order to satisfy yourselves that I pos- 
sess documentary proofs of the truth of my statement.” 

Hurstbourne said: “Exactly so. Now produce 
your documentary proofs, please.” 

“ I hold it in my hand,” answered Mr. Gascoigne, 
opening a drawer and taking out a folded sheet of 
notepaper ; “ but before submitting it to your inspec- 
tion, it would be as well, for the sake of lucidity, that 
I should inform you of certain episodes connected with 
your father’s early life.” 

Hurstbourne, I am sorry to say, forgot himself so 
far as to exclaim : “ Damn your lucidity and your epi- 
sodes too ! Give me that paper and have done with 
it.” 

He looked so pugnacious that Mr. Gascoigne glanced 
apprehensively at the bell, and I judged it appropriate 
to intervene. “ By all means let us have the episodes,” 
said I ; “ only I am sure you will understand, Mr. Gas- 
coigne, that your cousin is naturally impatient to arrive 
at results and that the less time we waste upon prefa- 
tory observations the better.” 

“ I will be brief, then,” our tormentor rejoined, with 
an unfriendly side-glance at me ; “ if I am also com- 
pelled to appear curt and unfeeling, the fault will not 
be mine. From information which I have received, I 
gather that my unfortunate uncle, the late Lord Charles 
Gascoigne, went astray at the very outset of his career. 
He took to betting and racing, as — as others have done, 
and, it would seem, with as little experience or knowl- 
edge to guide him as others have been equipped with. 
The usual consequence ensued ; he became involved 


234 


HIS GRACE . 


in difficulties out of which his brother, the late duke, 
helped him repeatedly ; he had recourse — so, at least, 
I am led to infer — to various more or less discreditable 
expedients for raising the wind ; finally, in what I can 
only regard as an access of temporary insanity, he 
actually went the length of forging the duke’s name to 
a check. Detection was certain to follow, and did 
follow, with the result that you know of. All this, or 
the essential part of it, you have already heard ; but to 
enable you to understand the letter which I shall pres- 
ently show you, I must mention that there was just one 
redeeming point in an otherwise — h’m — worthless char- 
acter. Lord Charles was, or at any rate pretended to 
be, devotedly attached to Miss Julia Nesfield, a lady 
who was at that time young and — er — no doubt beau- 
tiful, and with whom you are well acquainted under her 
present name of Lady Deverell.” 

I could not help ejaculating, “ Oh, that’s it, is it ? 
I see!” 

“ If you mean, sir,” returned the narrator, looking 
severely at me, “ that you see why Lady Deverell would 
incur any sacrifice rather than permit her niece to marry 
the son of such a man as the late Lord Charles Gas- 
coigne, I can only applaud your perspicacity, although 
I hardly see by what means you have arrived at a 
perfectly just conclusion.” 

You can’t keep so sententious a donkey as that out 
of office. I would defy any ministry, no matter how 
powerful, to do it, backed as he is by his position and 
his riches. 

“ I was about to say,” he resumed, “ when Mr. Mar- 
tyn interrupted me, that Miss Nesfield remained faith- 
ful to her unworthy admirer, notwithstanding the oppo- 


HIS GRACE . 


235 


sition of her family, and the constant scandals to which 
his conduct gave rise. At the time when the forgery 
was committed, he was apparently upon terms of the 
most unrestricted intimacy with her, and then it was 
that he wrote the letter which she has now — very 
rightly and properly, as I think — handed over to me, 
after having kept the disgraceful secret for so many 
years. It contains, you will see, a full admission of 
his guilt. I am authorized by Lady Deverell to say 
that it is only with extreme reluctance, and under pres- 
sure of what she feels to be a paramount necessity, 
that she has at length betrayed him ; although he was 
not long in betraying her. Upon the mercenary motives 
which led him to desert her in favor of a wealthy heiress 
it is needless for me to dwell ; I have, I hope, said 
enough to convince you that respect for his memory 
will scarcely deter either Lady Deverell or me from 
making use of the weapon that we possess, should we 
be forced to do so. But I trust that we shall not be so 
forced. Now you can both of you read the letter, if 
you wish.” 

Hurstbourne snatched it up, and ran his eye over it 
hastily. I did not look at it myself, but he afterwards 
gave me a succinct report of what had been revealed 
to him through the medium of that faded ink and dis- 
colored paper. The missive, which was addressed to 
the writer’s “ dearest Julie,” was full of protestations of 
eternal love, of profound penitence, of determination 
to eschew evil and do good for the future — a melan- 
choly and ironical record of broken vows and ephemeral 
repentance, which ought never to have been perused 
by any human being, save the one to whom it had 
been so imprudently despatched all those years ago. 


236 


HIS GRACE. 


As a confession, and as evidence of guilt, it was abso- 
lute and complete, Hur^tbourne said. He added that, 
such being the case, he could not, of course, suffer it 
to remain in existence. That, indeed, was what he 
openly and unhesitatingly announced at the time ; 
whereupon Mr. Gascoigne, by a sudden deft movement, 
and with much presence of mind, repossessed himself 
of the incriminating document. 

Immediately afterwards there was a scuffle. I can 
truthfully and honestly say that I don’t know how or 
when I was drawn into it, nor what precise object I had 
in view, beyond the laudable and respectable one of 
keeping the peace ; but the worst of taking part in 
scuffles is that one can never tell what position one 
may find oneself in at the end of them, and, at the 
risk of forfeiting the reader’s esteem, I must confess 
that when that one ended I found myself holding Mr. 
Gascoigne’s arms tightly behind his back. He was 
much excited, he was struggling violently, and he was 
making use of language which, I am assured, is never 
heard within the precincts of St. Stephen’s. Mean- 
while, Hurstbourne was deliberately tearing that ante- 
diluvian love-letter into little bits, and thrusting the 
fragments into his pocket. A more high-handed and 
outrageous proceeding I never heard of, and although, 
as regards the share that I had in it, I might perhaps 
plead extenuating circumstances, I will not do so. 
Amongst other compliments which Mr. Gascoigne 
addressed to me in the heat of the moment, he called 
me a hired bully : it is not for me to deny that he was 
justified in thus describing me. 

However, the letter had now been torn to pieces and 
could not be put together again (for I was sure Hurst- 


HIS GRACE. 


237 


bourne would swallow the scraps rather than allow that 
experiment to be tried) ; so that the only question for 
reasonable men to consider was what was to be done 
next. Mr. Gascoigne wanted to send for the police ; 
but by dint of physical and moral suasion I induced 
him to relinquish so hasty and ill-advised a plan. I 
pointed out to him that the evidence upon which he 
had relied no longer existed, that if he were to give his 
cousin and me into custody upon a charge of having 
assaulted and robbed him, he would have extreme diffi- 
culty in substantiating his accusation, and that he 
would assuredly be compelled to reveal certain things 
over which it would be infinitely better, in the interests 
of everybody concerned, to draw a veil. 

“ Admitting,” I continued, “ that you have some 
ground for complaint of the manner in which you have 
been dealt with, the fact still remains that you did your 
best to intimidate us. And no man who is worth his 
salt will submit to intimidation. Now, won’t you sit 
down and talk matters over quietly and dispassionately 
like a sensible being ? It doesn’t seem to me at all 
impossible that some compromise may be agreed upon.” 

After some further parley, he grew calmer, and ad- 
mitted that, since we had taken care to be two to one, 
we were for the time being in a position to dictate our 
own terms. He must, however, reserve complete liberty 
of future action to himself. If we spoke of compromise 
all he could say was that the cowardly and dishonor- 
able act which had just been perpetrated would cer- 
tainly not induce him to consent to any compromise 
which should include the possibility of a marriage be- 
tween Miss St. George and one of his assailants. 

“ I made the mistake,” he remarked, “ of supposing 


238 


HIS GRACE. 


that I had to do with gentlemen ; you have chosen to 
take what I should have imagined to be an impossibly 
base advantage of my error. Well and good ; but you 
cannot close my lips, and I believe that, among gentle- 
men, my account of this fracas will be accepted rather 
than yours.” 

“ I think, you know,” said I to Hurstbourne, “ that 
that can’t be called an unfair way of putting the case. 
Mr. Gascoigne had no business to hold a pistol to your 
head ; but you had no business to ask leave to examine 
his weapon and then destroy it. You have both been 
in the wrong : can’t you both contrive to put yourselves 
in the right again by a compact which will injure neither 
of you ? I do not understand Mr. Gascoigne to say that 
he himself contemplates marrying Miss St. George, but 
only that his regard for her will not permit him to let 
her marry you. Why, then, should it not be agreed 
that, so far as you and he are concerned, Miss St. 
George shall remain a spinster ? It seems to me ” 

“ My good Martyn,” interrupted Hurstbourne impa- 
tiently, “ you mean well, but you talk great nonsense. I’ll 
fight fairly with any man who offers to fight me fairly ; 
but when he tries to stab me in the back I’ll beat him 
the best way I can. I don’t care two straws whether 
this fellow calls me dishonorable or not ; let him sum- 
mons me or take any other measure that he likes ; it’s 
all one to me. Now I’ve done what I came here to do, 
and I’m going away.” 

Paul Gascoigne made no attempt to intercept him, 
as he moved towards the door, but merely remarked : 
“You won’t carry your point. You have forfeited all 
claim to indulgence from me, and even if I were dis- 
posed to let you escape scot-free, Lady Deverell would 


HIS GRACE . 


239 


not spare you. You may take my word for it that she 
will not consent to an alliance between you and her 
niece.” 

“ That,” returned Hurstbourne, “ is a question which 
may have to be fought out between Lady Deverell and 
her niece or between Lady Deverell and me ; you have 
nothing to do with it. What has happened to you is 
that you have tried to play me a dirty trick and failed.” 

I believe Mr. Gascoigne expressed his opinion of us 
in well-chosen, trenchant terms ; but he offered no op- 
position to our exit, nor did I listen very attentively to 
his parting observations. As soon as we were out in 
the street I began to scold Hurstbourne roundly, and 
he paid about as much attention to me as I had paid 
to his partially-vanquished rival. 

“ It’s all quite true, you know,” he said, breaking in 
abruptly upon my harangue, after we had walked some 
little distance; “ the thing did actually happen, just as 
that brute declared.” 

“ Well, I’m afraid so,” I replied ; “ and that’s just 
the awkward part of it. When you are charged with 
having done this, that, the other, et cetera, what line of 
defence do you propose to adopt, may I ask ? ” 

He did not respond, but presently inquired whether 
I thought that any girl who respected herself would 
consent to marry the son of a forger. 

“ I can’t answer for girls,” said I. “ Individually, 
I should not be so unjust as to hold a son responsible 
for his father’s misdeeds ; but women don’t so much as 
know what justice means. I should think she would 
refuse you. I quite hope she will because, in any 
event, she is one of those expensive luxuries which you 
can’t by any possibility afford.” 


240 


HIS GRACE. 


I expected him to rise ; but he didn't. He had taken 
me by the arm, and, after a pause, during which I 
noticed that he was not leading me towards Berkeley 
Square, I made so bold as to ask whither we were 
bound now. 

“ Why, we’re going to Lady Deverell’s of course,” he 
answered. “You didn’t suppose that we had got 
through the day’s work yet, did you ? ” 


HIS GRACE. 


2A\ 


CHAPTER XIX. 

THE BEARDING OF THE LIONESS. 

I was at a loss to understand what useful purpose 
could be served by a visit to Lady Deverell, who, in 
my humble judgment, was made of sterner stuff than 
Paul Gascoigne, and with whom our interview — suppos- 
ing that we obtained one — seemed likely to prove even 
more unpleasant than that which we had just brought 
to a quasi-victorious close ; but, as Hurstbourne evi- 
dently meant to have his own way, I held my peace 
and hoped that her ladyship would not be at home. 

I was disappointed, however ; for, on reaching Upper 
Grosvenor Street, we were granted admittance and 
were shown into the empty drawing-room, where we 
were kept waiting for five minutes. My apprehension 
of distressing possibilities had led me to inquire softly 
of the butler whether the young ladies were at home, 
and he had replied that they had gone out in the car- 
riage ; which both relieved my mind and suggested to 
me that Lady Deverell might not have been unprepared 
for a call from one of us. During the interval of sus- 
pense that I have mentioned Hurstbourne never opened 
his lips. He stood on the middle of the hearth-rug, 
with his hands behind his back, looking pale, resolute 
and ready to fight any man or woman in the wide world. 


242 


HIS GRACE. 


Nervous though I was and anxious to be well out of it, 
I could not help wondering, with some pleasurable 
emotion of curiosity, what sort of a queer encounter I 
was about to witness. 

Presently the door was thrown open, and the other 
party to the combat entered the lists. Her forbidding 
countenance wore a somewhat more than usually hard 
expression ; yet I divined that she was a little ashamed 
of herself and a little sorry for the man upon whose 
head she had brought down the consequences of a for- 
gotten disgrace. She did not offer him her hand, nor 
did he make any advance towards according her that 
customary form of greeting ; but I was permitted to 
press her long, skinny fingers, while she surveyed me 
interrogatively, as who should say, “ Pray who asked 
you to put your oar in ? ” 

“ You have only yourself to thank,” she began, ad- 
dressing Hurstbourne, without preface or any simulated 
doubt as to the nature of his errand ; “ a moment’s re- 
flection will show you that it was not much more agree- 
able to me to hand that letter over to Mr. Gascoigne 
than it can have been to you to read it. But you left 
me no choice ; you refused to listen to repeated warn- 
ings — you would have it ! After all, now that you know 
the truth, you will hardly assert that you were entitled 
to expect much consideration from me.” 

“ You think perhaps,” said Hurstbourne, “ that I came 
here to reproach you. Not at all ; I only came in order 
to make my position and yours clear : as matters stand 
now, it seems to want a little clearing up. What you 
imagine to be your position is this, isn’t it ? — that you 
possess, or rather that your confederate, Paul Gascoigne, 
possesses, an incriminating ietter which you are de- 


HIS GRACE. 


243 


termined to make public unless I comply with certain 
conditions. In what sort of way you meant to make it 
public I don’t quite understand. Did you propose to 
communicate it to a news’ agency ? ” 

“You know as well as I do,” returned Lady Deverell, 
“ that the kind of publication that is required for all 
intents and purposes doesn’t mean publication in the 
newspapers ; though it is likely enough that the story 
will find its way into some of them. That is, if you are 
foolish enough to defy us. If you comply with our con- 
ditions — as of course you must — we shall not trouble 
you any further.” 

“ Well, I shall not comply with your conditions,” said 
Hurstbourne. “ As for the penalty with which you 
threaten me, there is one trifling obstacle in the way of 
your carrying it out ; namely, that your evidence has 
been scattered to the four winds. I can speak posi- 
tively upon that point, because I tore your letter into 
shreds with my own hands only a short time ago.” 

“ You did that ! ” exclaimed Lady Deverell, her eyes 
flashing and her lips quivering ; “ you were guilty of 
such vile treachery and dishonesty as that ! Ah, I might 
have known that you were your father’s son ! How 
could that man have been fool enough to post the let- 
ter to you ! I told him not to part with it.” 

“ Oh, you mustn’t be angry with him, ” answered 
Hurstbourne coolly ; “ he took every reasonable pre- 
caution. He invited me to inspect the document at 
his house ; he didn’t know that I should bring a great 
big friend with me ; still less could he anticipate that 
we should resort to physical violence. As he himself 
touchingly remarked, he supposed that he had to do 
with gentlemen.” 


244 


HIS GRACE. 


Like the majority of her sex, Lady Deverell was 
puzzled and angered by anything approaching irony. 
She stared and frowned and then snorted out, “ Oh, 
you don’t even pretend to be a gentleman, then ? ” 

“ How should I, my dear lady, when you have taken 
such pains to demonstrate to me that my father ought 
by rights to have spent the best years of his life in a 
convict prison ? You shouldn’t destroy a man’s self- 
respect if you want to keep him nice and scrupulous. 
You will be shocked to hear that I am not in the very 
slightest degree ashamed of my conduct. Martyn, as 
you may see by his face, is a good deal ashamed of 
having held your friend down while I destroyed your 
valuable property; but Martyn’s father was a respect- 
able man, I daresay, and he himself is about as respect- 
able as they make them. Naturally, he blushes, and 
naturally, I don’t. At all events, there’s an end and 
a finish to your precious letter, and now what are you 
going to do next ? ” 

“ I am surprised at your asking,” Lady Deverell 
declared ; “ it stands to reason that I shall — well, that 
I shall expose you.” 

“Does it? I should have thought that you could 
hardly expose me without exposing yourself. The 
threats of exposure would have been all very well, if it 
had happened to be effectual ; but the reality — isn’t 
that rather a different thing ? I’m afraid some of your 
friends will be disrespectful enough to smile when you 
unfold your tragic tale, and that others will listen to it 
with a spice of incredulity. It may be true, they will 
think that you were jilted ages ago by a man who knew 
that you had it in your power to blast his reputation at 
any moment ; but it isn’t over and above likely to be 


HIS GRACE. 


245 


true. And then they will begin to wonder why, if you 
meant to reveal the secret at all, you didn’t reveal it a 
little sooner.” 

“ That will easily be explained. I might have re- 
venged myself upon your father if I had condescended 
to do so and if I had thought that a mere desire for re- 
venge could ever be justifiable. It is because I did not 
think so that I have hitherto spared him and you. But 
now I have a motive — a very sufficient motive — for 
speaking out, and you know very little about me if you 
imagine that my mouth will be closed by any fear of 
the laughter of my friends.” 

“ You really mean to proclaim your motive, then ? 
That is courageous of you ; though it can’t be called 
discreet. You are really going to announce from the 
house-tops that your reason for accusing my father of a 
crime which can’t possibly be proved against him is 
that you are in terror lest your niece should have be- 
stowed her affections upon my father’s son ? There is 
one person who won’t thank you for your candor, and 
that is Miss St. George.” 

“ I could have proved him guilty,” cried Lady 
Deverell, a dull red color coming into her faded 
cheeks ; “ I have only been deprived of my proof by 
your infamous brutality. You don’t even affect to deny 
that ; and if you did, I could call Mr. Gascoigne and 
that foolish young Martyn, whom I am sorry to see in 
his present disgraceful situation, as witnesses.” 

“No doubt; still you would be left in the painful 
predicament of having placed Miss St. George in a 
predicament even more painful than your own. Your 
dilemma would have been pretty much the same if I 
had left Paul Gascoigne in undisturbed possession of 


246 


HIS GRACE . 


your proofs ; but he isn’t a very trustworthy person ; so 
I thought it as well to be on the safe side.” 

“ In other words, you imagine that, after what you 
have done, you can bully me into silence. You will find 
that you have made a miscalculation. Up to the pres- 
ent moment I have not said one word to Leila; but 
this evening she shall hear the whole truth.” 

“ That is of course ; did you think that I wished to 
conceal it from her ? But where will you be if, in spite 
of having heard the whole truth, she tells you that her 
affections have been bestowed unworthily ? ” 

“ She will not do so. She is a gentlewoman, and it 
would be impossible for her to feel any affection for a 
forger’s son.” 

“ Oh, I don’t know about the impossibility ; you were 
not unwilling, it seems, to marry the forger himself. 
I don’t blame you for that, I can quite forgive you ; tut 
will Miss St. George forgive your suggesting that she is 
ready to throw herself into the arms of an humble and 
disgraced individual who hasn’t yet asked her to marry 
him?” 

“ That is begging the question ; you are going to ask 
her to marry you.” 

“ Perhaps. Anyhow, I shall do exactly as I feel 
disposed about it, and I shall not ask your permission. 
You said, a short while ago, that I wasn’t entitled to 
expect much consideration from you ; now, I don’t think 
you are entitled to expect much consideration from 
me.” 

“ I am not asking you for any,” Lady Deverell de- 
clared, with some emotion ; “ yet, if you had a spark of 
honorable or gentlemanlike feeling, you would acknowl 
edge that I have not been ungenerous to you and 


HIS GRACE . 


247 


yours. I have kept your shameful secret, and I should 
have kept it to my dying day, but for your impudent 
attempt to thrust yourself into my family. Oh, I 
understand your smile ; your retort is easy, and you 
haven’t shrunk from making it already. I was willing 
to marry a forger. Yes ; I was willing to marry him, 
because I cared for him and believed that he cared for 
me, and because I was too young to know that a man 
who had done such a thing was certain to do other 
things as bad and worse. It is worthy of a Gascoigne 
to sneer at me for my folly. But now I am older and 
wiser ; now I am determined to save others from such 
a misfortune as nearly overtook me ; and it is not the 
dread of being laughed at, or even of being disbelieved, 
that will deter me from doing my duty.” 

I broke silence for the first time to remark, “ That 
isn’t so badly put.” The words were forced from me 
by my admiration for the genuine human excitement 
which had momentarily transformed a sour old woman 
into a sort of tragedy queen ; but the chief actors, I 
suppose, did not feel any need of a chorus, for neither 
of them vouchsafed me the slighest attention. Hurst- 
bourne said gravely : 

“ Look here, Lady Deverell ; you were badly treated 
once upon a time, I have no doubt, and you were en- 
titled to choose your own opportunity for paying off old 
scores. I don’t condemn you ; but at the same time, 
I don’t think it lies in your mouth to condemn me. It’s 
a case of pot and kettle. To serve my own selfish ends, 
I haven’t scrupled to commit a species of felony, and 
to serve your own selfish ends, you haven’t scrupled to 
do things which, in my humble opinion, are just as 
felonious as if they were punishable by the law of the 


248 


HIS GRACE. 


land. It really isn’t worth our while to call each othet 
names.” 

“I have done nothing felonious and nothing wrong,” 
the old lady returned ; “ still less have I done anything 
selfish. It was for my niece’s sake, not for my own, 
that I felt bound to take that letter out of the desk in 
which I have kept it locked up for more years than you 
have lived in the world.” 

“ Ah, I wasn’t thinking about the letter ; I was 
thinking about your treatment of a girl to whom you were 
supposed to be acting in the capacity of a mother. It 
was very pretty and very unselfish on your part to offer 
hospitality and protection to Miss Martyn, wasn’t it ? 
You knew — or, at all events, you thought you knew — 
that I had not the smallest intention of asking her to 
be my wife ; but that was no reason why there shouldn’t 
be a flirtation between us, or why the flirtation shouldn’t 
have results which would exactly suit your book. I am 
not going to tell you how I discovered your amiable 
little design ; but I have discovered it, as you see, and 
upon my word, I don’t see what business you have to 
mount the high horse when you talk to me. If I am a 
despicable being, it strikes me very forcibly that you 
are another.” 

Lady Deverell was visibly disconcerted. I don’t 
know whether she would have met his assertion with a 
flat contradiction if she had not been hampered by the 
memory of a certain conversation which I had over- 
heard ; but I daresay she would not, for she had an un- 
usual share of masculine attributes. What she did 
deny, in a few words, was that she had ever trifled with 
my sister’s happiness. 

“ Miss Martyn,” said she, bluntly and somewhat in* 


HIS GRACE . 


249 


elegantly, “ wouldn’t touch you with a pair of tongs ; 
you may make your mind as easy as mine is on that 
score. Think just what you please about me ; I don’t 
value your good opinion. Am I to understand, then, 
that you intend to persist in your courtship of Leila St. 
George ? ” 

“ I thought I had told you already that I should do 
exactly as I felt disposed ; I only wondered whether 
you would be foolish enough to go in for public revela- 
tions.” 

“ Private revelations will probably suffice,” answered 
Lady Deverell dryly : “ but, to use your own words, I 
shall do exactly as I feel disposed.” 

“ I see,” observed Hurstbourne. “ Then I think we 
have pretty well exhausted the subject and may wish 
you good-bye.” 

We effected our retreat with more or less of ostensi- 
ble dignity ; but I could not feel that we had cut a very 
dignified figure in the above encounter, and the moment 
that we were once more out in the open air, I endeav- 
ored to show my companion how hopeless was the 
struggle to which, he had committed himself. 

“ It is possible,” I said, “ that Lady Deverell and 
Mr. Gascoigne may keep their own counsel, because I 
don’t suppose that they are either of them particularly 
anxious to provoke the hilarity of their neighbors ; but 
you must indeed be sanguine if you expect Miss St. 
George to accept you after the ‘ private revelation ’ 
which is about to be made to her.” 

“ Who told you that she would get the chance ? ” 
asked Hurstbourne tranquilly. 

“ I was under the impression that you had,” I 
replied. 


250 


HIS GRACE. 


“ You were under a false impression, then. That 
girl has no more heart than a stone ! It was she who 
enlightened me about your sister and the old woman’s 
designs. She did it at the ball, and I was much obliged 
to her for opening my eyes. Oh, they’re a nice lot, 
these women ! ” 

“ It has always been my conviction that the vices of 
the sex are in excess of its virtues,” I remarked. 

“ With one exception, eh ? Well, I grant you the 
one exception. Perhaps, if it wasn’t asking too much 
of you, you might consent to throw my mother in ; but 
I won’t insist upon it. Poor old mother ; this will be 
a sad blow for her ! ” 

“ The discovery that you have lost all esteem for her 
sex in general and for Miss St. George in particular ? ” 

“ No ; don’t laugh — there’s nothing to laugh at. I 
mean the discovery th^.t we are eternally disgraced. 
Perhaps it won’t be a discovery, though — who knows ? 
We shall have to hide our heads somewhere or other 
abroad, I suppose. Well, we should have had to go 
into exile any way, for I’m about broke. All the 
same, I didn’t make such a bad fight for it when I was 
driven into the last ditch, did I ? ” 

I could not quite bring myself to commend his 
method of fighting; but it seemed rather absurd to 
have fought so hard only in order to run away. I com- 
forted him to the best of my ability, pointing out that, 
with a little courage and a good deal of economy, his 
affairs still admitted of re-establishment upon a solid 
basis, and recommending him, if he did decide to leave 
the country, to do so only by way of preparing himself 
and his associates for the inevitable change which 
would have to take place in his manner of living after 


HIS GRACE. 


25 1 


his return. As for eternal disgrace, that was nonsense ; 
since he really didn’t want to marry Miss St. George, 
he might safely count, I thought, upon the silence of 
Lady Deverell and his cousin. 

“ My dear fellow, they may have the whole story 
printed in the form of a leaflet and stand at Hyde Park 
Corner, distributing copies to the passers-by all day 
long, if they choose,” he returned ; “the disgrace is in 
there being such a story to tell, not in its being told.” 

“Yet, for the sake of destroying the evidence, you 
have risked getting yourself and me into a horrible 
mess,” I remarked, with a shade of irritation. “ Why 
on earth did you do that ? ” 

“ Now that you ask me, I hardly know. I suppose I 
wanted to show Paul Gascoigne that, if it came to 
bullying, two could play at that game. Very likely, as 
you say, he and that old woman will hold their tongues 
now ; but it makes no difference, because I shan’t be 
able to hold mine. I mean I shall always have to con- 
fess the truth to anybody whom I — well, to anybody 
whose opinion signifies. You are good enough to de- 
clare that you wouldn’t hold a man responsible for his 
father’s misdeeds ; but you admitted, when I asked 
you, that no girl who respected herself would marry 
the son of a forger.” 

“ I never said that,” I replied ; “ I said I didn’t think 
Miss St. George would accept you ; but it is no longer 
a question of Miss St. George, thank Heaven ! It will 
be time enough to bother yourself when there comes to 
be a question of somebody else ; but that won’t be yet 
awhile, I hope. The truth is that you are too young 
and (considering your rank) too poor to think of 
marrying at present,” 


252 


HIS GRACE. 


“ My chances wouldn’t be greatly improved if I were 
older and richer, I expect,” he returned despondently. 
“ I wonder whether you would work yourself up into 
an awful rage if I told you something, Martyn ? ” 

I answered that his conduct for a long time past had 
enraged me to that extent that it would be difficult to 
conceive of any confession which could enrage me 
farther. 

“ I’m not so sure of that,” said Hurstbourne ; “ still 
I should rather like to make a clean breast of it to you. 
That can’t do either you or me any harm, if it doesn’t 
do us any good. I daresay I was mistaken, but I 
thought perhaps you might have guessed that I had 
fallen in love with your sister when we were down in 
the country. I won’t deny that I tried to get over it as 
soon as I found it out ; I had an idea that I ought to 
marry somebody with aristocratic connections, if I 
could, and I did for a time think of marrying Miss St. 
George — not because I cared a pin about her, but be- 
cause I wanted to cut that fellow Paul out. I should 
never have done it, though. I couldn’t have brought 
myself to the point of proposing to her, even if she 
hadn’t made me hate her by the way in which she spoke 
about your sister that night at the ball. I knew before 
then that there was only one person in the world who 
could ever be my wife — and that person never will be 
my wife now. It wouldn’t be the slightest use to ask 
her, would it ? ” 

I hesitated for a moment (the complicated aspect of 
the situation being very apparent to me), before I re- 
plied : “ I don’t think it would be much use, Hurst- 

bourne. I am sure that, if Nora cared for you, she 
wouldn’t be influenced in the smallest degree by any- 


HIS GRACE. 


2 53 


thing that you might see fit to tell her about your father’s 
shortcomings; but I doubt very much whether she 
does care for you. You haven’t exhibited yourself in 
a particularly becoming light to her, you see. Candor 
deserves to be met with candor, so I’ll admit that you 
might have won her heart at one time, if you had tried 
to do so ; but, by your own admission, you tried to do 
the contrary. I should imagine that you have been 
completely successful. Take my advice and let the 
whole affair pass into the category of might-have-beens. 
The things that might have been wouldn’t always have 
turned out well if they had been, and after all, we don’t 
belong to the class from which dukes and duchesses 
are recruited, Nora and I.” 

I confess that the meekness with which Hurstbourne 
bowed to my ruling disappointed me a little. I thought 
that he would have been less submissive if he had been 
really in earnest, and I didn’t quite see why he should 
have mentioned Nora’s name to me at all unless he had 
been in earnest. I was, however, convinced that she 
had overcome her temporary infatuation, and, since 
that was the case, it was perhaps just as well that she 
should not be unsettled by an offer which she would 
have had no choice but to refuse. The remainder of 
our walk was accomplished in unbroken silence. 


254 


HIS GRACE. 


CHAPTER XX. 

FEMININE CONSISTENCY. 

It does not seem impossible that, in the course of the 
humble narrative which is now nearing its conclusion, 
I may have conveyed to feminine readers an impression 
that I am incapable of comprehending or rendering 
justice to their sex. To that criticism most of them 
will probably add that they can get on very well with- 
out my comprehension or my justice. Perhaps, there- 
fore, it would be impertinent on my part to offer excuses 
and apologies ; still, if I can’t do justice to others, I am 
always anxious to do justice to myself, and that is why I 
seize this opportunity of declaring how fully I recognize 
and admire the power of women to come out strong in 
times of emergency. Personally, I think they would 
be pleasanter to live with if they did not habitually 
exaggerate the proportions of mole-hills by way of off- 
set to their occasional courage in levelling mountains ; 
but that is neither here nor there. I gladly admit that 
they possess the latter form of courage; and Lady 
Charles Gascoigne, of all people in the world, gave us 
a splendid example of it when we informed her that, in 
consequence of the recent ducal extravagances the ducal 
manage would have to be speedily shorn of all its mag- 
nificence. 


HIS GRACE . 


2 5S 


“ Oh, well,” she said, after I had broken the news to 
her as considerately as I could, and had spoken of the 
proposed reductions in her son’s establishment as not 
only commendable but really indispensable, “ that isn’t 
so bad, you know ; it isn’t ruin and it isn’t bankruptcy. 
We shall go abroad for a year or two and amuse our- 
selves very well in an economical way until things come 
round, and I am sure Mr. Martyn will do his best for 
us during our absence. Do you think of letting Hurst- 
borne, Arthur ? There ought to be no trouble about 
finding a tenant.” 

Hurstbourne embraced her, swearing that no man 
had ever had so good a mother and that few mothers 
had ever been afflicted with such a fool of a son. I 
suppose that, in a certain sense, the poor woman had 
been a good mother to him ; at all events, she had been 
a most affectionate one, and I must say that she be- 
haved on this occasion far better than I had dared to 
anticipate. While they were exchanging endearing 
epithets and trying to persuade one another that it was 
really rather fun than otherwise to descend once more 
into obscurity from those sun-illumined heights upon 
which their sojourn had been so brief, I slipped out of 
the room. I knew that there was something else to 
be said, something which could hardly be made light of, 
and which had better not be alluded to in the presence 
of a third person ; so I escaped to my private den, where 
I sat about making preparations for the winding up and 
resigning of my stewardship. 

I had been wrestling for rather more than half an 
hour with the intricacies of unmanageable figures 
when a tremendous tap at the door heralded the 
entrance of Lady Charles. I had felt quite sure that 


2$6 


HIS GRACE . 


she would seek me out, and hoped against hope that she 
wouldn’t. What, indeed, could I say to her, and what 
possible comfort was it in my power to offer her ? I did 
my best, and she seemed relieved to hear that, in my 
opinion, there was little or no likelihood of the history 
of her late husband’s misdemeanors being made public 
property; but of course I could not tell her that I 
thought that defunct scamp justified in having signed 
another man’s name, and, upon my honor, I be- 
lieve that was what she wanted me to say. It was 
so terrible, she moaned, after she had cast herself 
down upon a chair and had allowed her tears to run 
unrestrainedly down her poor old painted cheeks, that 
Arthur should be driven to despise his father ! Well, it 
was terrible, no doubt ; only I did not see how Arthur 
was to help it, and I remarked that he had at least 
done what in him lay to protect his father’s memory. 

“ Oh, yes,” she sobbed ; “ he has acted nobly and 
generously, and like his father’s son ! ” — a comic and 
pathetic tribute of applause to our joint exploit. “ And 
I am very grateful to you,” she added, “ for having 
helped him to silence that cold-blooded villain. You 
have shown yourself a true friend to Arthur, Mr. 
Martyn ; I shall never forget it.” 

“Thank you,” I answered ; “ but we are not out of 
the wood yet, and I am by no means sure that we 
haven’t done a stupid day’s work between us. Our 
chief hope of escaping the penalty due to our offence is 
that your son apparently no longer wishes to promote 
Miss St. George to the highest rank in the peerage. 
Did he tell you that ? ” 

“ Yes,” she answered ; “ he told me that and — and 
other things besides. I was very glad — and very sorry. 


HIS GRACE. 


2 57 


I mean, I was glad that he has no real affection for 
that girl ; because she isn’t a nice girl. Paul Gascoigne 
may take her, if he can get her, and I wish him joy 
of his bargain. It isn’t that sort of thing that sign- 
ifies.” 

What, according to her, did signify, was the pessi- 
mistic view which Hurstbourne had taken up of a by- 
gone and condoned offence. I agreed with her that 
no shadow of blame rested upon him, but I could not 
quite follow her in her elaborate attempt to prove that 
the late Lord Charles Gascoigne had not been so very 
much to blame either. She had a good deal to say 
upon the subject ; she made out as good a case for her 
husband as could have been made out. It is likely 
enough that her husband would have resisted temp- 
tation as successfully as the rest of us, if only he had 
not happened to find temptation irresistible. The 
touching part of her incoherent narrative consisted in 
the unconscious evidence of her own absolute unself- 
ishness which she displayed in every sentence of it. 

She had married a more or less penitent scapegrace, 
whom she had adored, and who had perhaps been 
fond of her after a fashion which had not deterred 
him from squandering her fortune ; when he had been 
taken from her, she had devoted herself, heart and 
soul, to her son, for whose sake she had cheerfully 
submitted to a thousand discomforts and petty mis- 
eries ; the only thing that rendered her disconsolate 
now was that, notwithstanding all her precautions, her 
son had at length been let into a secret which, she 
sadly feared, had broken his heart. 

I endeavored to reassure her. Naturally she did 
not attach much importance to my assertion that hearts 
17 


258 


HIS GRACE. 


are not broken so easily as all that ; but she appeared 
to be in some measure consoled by the convincing terms 
in which I represented to her that, from the moment 
their quarry was released, neither Lady Deverell nor 
Mr. Gascoigne could have any conceivable motive for 
disclosing what she was so eager to bury in oblivion. 
She left the room at last in a somewhat happier frame 
of mind, and, I daresay, went upstairs to conceal the 
traces of her emotion beneath the customary coat of 
rouge and white-wash. I was thankful to her for her 
delicacy in abstaining from any reference to Nora (be- 
cause it was evident that Hurstbourne had been as 
frank with her as he had been with me), and also for the 
matter-of-course way in which she received the announce- 
ment of my impending resignation. I had been pre- 
pared for some useless opposition and remonstrance on 
the latter head. 

I did subsequently meet with some opposition from 
Hurstbourne, who seemed to think that he had involved 
me in his downfall, and who reproached himself for hav- 
ing caused me, as he phrased it, to “ make a false 
start ” in life. He declared that he could see no earth- 
ly reason why I should not continue to draw my salary 
and manage his affairs for him during his absence. He 
would not accept as a serious excuse (indeed it was not 
a very good one) my allegation that he would soon have 
no affairs to manage ; he even went so far to accuse me 
of ratting from a sinking ship. However, he had no 
answer to make when I asked him whether, after the 
confession that I had had from him, he thought it 
would be desirable or possible for my sister to live with 
me while I was living upon his estate. My sister, I 
added, would have to live with me, because there was 


HIS GRACE . 


2 59 


nowhere else for her to live. The poor fellow was very 
meek and submissive. Lady Deverell and Mr. Gas- 
coigne would hardly have recognized their brazen-faced 
assailant in the dejected young man who assured me that 
nothing except his duty to his mother restrained him 
from putting an end to a useless and valueless existence. 

“You will be as valuable as ever in a few years, if 
only you will keep very quiet during that time,” I re- 
turned, “ and you may depend upon it that plenty of 
uses will be found for you before you die. Meanwhile, 
it would be an exceedingly cowardly act on your part to 
hang yourself, leaving me to be summoned by your 
cousin and punished with the utmost rigor of the 
law.” 

But Mr. Gascoigne did not take out a summons. We 
heard nothing of or from him on the following day, nor 
did any communication reach us from Lady Deverell. 
I took it that they were waiting for Hurstbourne to 
make the next move. 

“ They'll have to wait a long time then,” he remarked 
on my imparting this view to him; “ I don't know what 
more there is for me to say or do. I shouldn’t wonder 
if I were to meet the old woman to-night, though. I 
shall be curious to see whether she will cut me or de- 
nounce me publicly.” 

He was, as usual, dining out, and was going on after- 
wards to I forget whose reception — a quasi-political 
gathering at which Lady Deverell was pretty sure to be 
present. I did not think it at all probable that she would 
denounce him ; but I was, I confess, not less curious 
than he as to the reception which her ladyship might 
see fit to accord him, and a good deal more so, perhaps 
as to the method by which Miss St. George might con- 


260 


HIS GRACE . 


trive to extricate herself from a somewhat puzzling posi- 
tion. Consequently I busied myself with accounts 
of past expenditure and schemes for future retrench- 
ment until long after midnight, when my patience was 
rewarded by the entrance of my noble employer, who 
cast himself down upon a chair and said : 

“ Throw me a cigar and give me something to drink, 
will you, like a good chap ? Well, I’ve had a rare even- 
ing of it ! Everybody has heard that I’m broke, you 
know.” 

“ Everybody, ” I remarked, “ always does hear of the 
things that haven’t yet happened. That’s not a matter 
of much consequence, is it ? But I hope everybody 
hasn’t heard of what actually did happen yesterday.” 

“ Not that I am aware of,” he answered, after swal- 
lowing the half of the whiskey-and-soda which I had 
poured out for him. “ Miss St. George has, because 
she has received full and particular information from 
her dear old aunt ; but she isn’t going to talk about it. 
She said it wouldn’t be worth her while, and I quite 
agreed with her.” 

“ Oh, you saw Miss St. George, then ? ” 

“ Rather ! She doesn’t mind calling a spade a spade, 
that young woman. She led me off into a corner to tell 
me that she knew the worst, and that, upon the whole, 
she rather admired my pluck or my impudence — she 
didn’t quite know which to call it.” 

“ Well ? ” I said, after waiting some little time for 
him to continue. 

“ Well, we had a longish talk, and I mentioned that 
I was going to put everything down, and leave the 
country, and so forth. Of course I understood what 
she was driving at, and that she wanted me to give her 


HIS GRACE . 


261 


the satisfaction of having refused me ; but, as I declined 
to come up to the scratch, she ended by asking me 
point-blank whether I hadn’t something to say to 
her.” 

“ How charmingly ingenuous ! And you replied ? ” 

“ I replied that I didn’t see what there was to be said, 
except good-bye. Then I don’t exactly remember what 
took place, or how it was that she arrived at the point 
of calling me every bad name that she could lay her 
tongue to. I hooked it as soon as I could. The fact 
is, my dear Martyn,” continued Hurstbourne, with the 
air of one who, by dint of long experience and observa- 
tion, has discovered a recondite truth, “ that an angry 
woman, is the deuce and all ! It’s no use reasoning 
with her ; it’s no use pointing out to her that she hasn’t 
the slightest excuse for being angry with you ; the only 
plan is to bolt. Hang it all ! you’re not bound to pro- 
pose to a woman whom you would rather die than 
marry, merely in order that she may boast afterwards 
of having dismissed you with a flea in your ear.” 

That proposition was indisputable, and I did not dis- 
pute it, although it occurred to me that Miss St. George 
might have more substantial grounds for indignation 
than the one mentioned. Frankly speaking, it was 
little enough that I cared about any disappointment 
which might have been inflicted upon Miss St. George, 
and little credit that I gave her for a genuine desire to 
participate in the self-denials of an exile. I was rejoiced 
to think that that chapter was closed, and rejoiced also 
to notice that Hurstbourne’s spirits had been, to some 
extent, improved by the events of the evening. I am 
sure he did not suspect at the time, and I doubt whether 
he has ever suspected since, that he had inspired Lady 


262 


HIS GRACE. 


Deverell’s niece with a passion which, by reason of the 
poverty of language, must be classed under the generic 
heading of love. 

On the succeeding afternoon I was meditating a visit 
to Upper Grosvenor Street, for the purpose of confer- 
ring with Nora, and making arrangements for her 
speedy removal to some place of shelter which I could 
call my own, when I was spared the trouble of rising 
from my chair by the arrival of my sister, who, before I 
could say a word, informed me that she meant to quit 
Lady DeverelFs house on the morrow. She had, it 
appeared, been made acquainted with the various 
episodes of the previous forty-eight hours ; so that she 
was prepared to take up her abode with me provision- 
ally so soon as I should have laid down my present 
functions. 

“ Only,” said she, “ you won’t, of course, be able to 
leave the duke for some weeks to come, and I really 
can’t live any longer in the same house with Miss St. 
George. I am sorry to make a fuss ; but you would 
admit that I have no choice in the matter if you had 
heard the way in which she spoke to me last night. It 
was at a great crush ; the duke was there, and I sup- 
pose he must have given her to understand that he had 
no intentions. Anyhow, after they had been talking 
together for some time, she marched up to me in a 
towering passion, and charged me, in the plainest of 
plain terms, with having done my utmost to catch him. 
She didn’t mince matters ; she said a worm might be a 
useful bait to attract a fish, but it wasn’t the worm who 
retained possession of him when he had been hooked, 
and I might take her word for it that, sly as I was, my 
slyness wouldn’t be of any service to me. She was sc 


HIS GRACE . 


263 


furious that I daresay she hardly knew what she was 
saying ; but it wasn’t particularly pleasant to me to 
listen to her, and I don’t suppose it can have been par- 
ticularly pleasant to Lady Deverell either. Afterwards 
Lady Deverell apologized to me, and gave me a sort of 
explanation. She begged me to stay with her as long 
as I felt inclined, and promised that I shouldn’t be so 
insulted a second time ; nevertheless, I don’t think she 
was much grieved to hear that I had already made 
arrangements for leaving.” 

“ That you had made arrangements ? ” 

“ Yes ; by a queer stroke of good fortune, Uncle John 
happened to be one of the crowd. I had shaken hands 
with him a few minutes before ; so, as soon as Miss St. 
George turned her back upon me, I sought him out, 
and reminded him of an old offer of his. He was quite 
pleasant about it ; he said they would, of course, be 
very happy to give me house-room, and he didn’t ask 
more questions than he could help. Naturally, he 
lamented what he called ‘ the pecuniary collapse of that 
foolish young nobleman,’ which, he feared, would ‘ throw 
Philip out of work again ’ ; but I don’t think he sus- 
pected the existence of any other intricacies in our 
relations with the foolish young nobleman. So, you 
see, I shall be all right, and you needn’t worry yourself 
about me until you have cleared yourself from more 
important worries.” 

I had nothing to urge against an arrangement which, 
under all circumstances, seemed to be the wisest and 
most feasible that could be suggested ; but I thought 
that I ought, perhaps, to say a word or two about 
Hurstbourne, and I should probably have been clumsy 
enough to utter those words if Hurstbourne himself had 


264 


HIS GRACE. 


not come into the room before I had quite made up 
my mind. 

On discovering that I was not alone, he looked 
slightly taken aback, but at once regained his self- 
possession and chattered away for the next quarter of 
an hour upon all sorts of subjects with an assumption 
of cheerful carelessness which I could not sufficiently 
admire. Nora did not behave quite so well. She was 
embarrassed and showed that she was embarrassed ; 
she answered him at random ; she demonstrated to him 
as plainly as could be that she was wondering when he 
meant to go away ; and, as he displayed no sign of re- 
sponding to her tacit invitation, she herself rose at last, 
with the somewhat uncivil remark that we could resume 
our interrupted colloquy another day. 

“ Are you walking home, Miss Martyn ? ” asked 
Hurstbourne, getting up at the same moment. “ I’ll 
walk round with you, if you don’t object, and see you 
safely over the crossings.” 

She did object ; but her objections were disregarded 
and her assertion that there are no crossings worth 
speaking of between Berkeley Square and upper 
Grosvenor Street was met with a counter-assertion to 
the effect that Berkeley Square is just about the most 
dangerous place in London to traverse without an 
efficient escort. Nobody, so Hurstbourne declared, is 
run over in Piccadilly or Cheapside, where there are 
refuges and vigilant policemen ; but a tradesman’s 
cart or a hansom cab, rattling down Hay Hill with a 
loose rein, is the very thing of all others that is most 
likely to bring about the death of the unwary pedes- 
trian. They were still arguing when they departed. 
Looking out of the window presently, I saw them walk- 


HIS GRACE . 


265 


ing off, side by side, in the sunshine, having to all ap- 
pearance composed or forgotten their difference. Well, 
there was perhaps no great harm, if there was no great 
good, in their holding a farewell conversation. In one 
sense the whole thing was a pity ; still the pity of it 
might have been even more conspicuous if things had 
gone moderately straight with them, instead of im- 
moderately crooked — if he had not chanced to come 
across Miss St. George and she had not learnt to ap- 
praise him at a value considerably lower than that 
which she had placed upon him in the earlier stages of 
their intimacy. The old aristocratic notions of what 
constitutes a misalliance have, it is true, passed out of 
date ; yet there remains a difference between espousing 
an American heiress, whose relations reside on the 
other side of the Atlantic, and making a duchess out 
of a British orphan, whose father was engaged in com- 
merce and whose commercial undertakings ended dis- 
astrously into the bargain. I did not regard it as by 
any means proved that Nora would have been a happy 
woman, had the Fates permitted of her becoming Duch- 
ess of Hurstbourne. 

In some degree soothed by these philosophic cogi- 
tations, I returned to my figures ; and if ever I was 
amazed in my life, I was amazed when Hurstbourne 
burst in upon me, towards evening in a state of insane 
jubilation, exclaiming : 

“ It’s all right, old man, and you may congratulate 
me if you like. She’ll marry me, in spite of everything.” 

“ Well, then,” I returned, “ all I can say is that you 
may eliminate the one exception which you and I agreed 
to make from our estimate of the female sex at large the 
other day. How is a reasonable male creature to ac- 


266 


HIS GRACE. 


count for such behavior ? It is as absurd for he/t to 
think of marrying you now as it is for you to think of 
marrying her. I don’t see what you mean by it — either 
of you. Why, it isn’t a week since you were upon 
the verge of proposing to Miss St. George, and it isn t 
a week since she solemnly assured me that she had 
quite got over her ” 

I checked myself ; but not in time to prevent him 
from divining the conclusion of my unfinished sentence. 

“ She did then ! ” he cried triumphantly. “ I was sure 
of it — I knew she had loved me, just as I loved her, 
from the very first ; only she wouldn’t admit it. Now, 
look here, my dear Martyn ; you mustn’t be crabbed and 
unpleasant about this, because it’s all settled and we 
know very well what we are going in for. As Nora says, 
we are neither of us people of expensive tastes ” 

“ Merciful Heavens ! ” I ejaculated ; “ does she say 
that you are not a person of expensive tastes ? If 
she’ll say that, she’ll say anything ; I give her up.” 

44 Neither of us people of expensive tastes,” re- 
sumed Hurstbourne composedly, 14 and we shall rather 
enjoy wandering about Europe and living on second 
floors for a year or two. Oh, it wasn’t the money part 
of the business that I was afraid of ! But, thank God ! 
Nora knows all about my poor father, and it hasn’t 
made a bit of difference in her. She says she doesn’t 
think it would have made very much difference if I had 
been a forger myself.” 

“ Don’t I tell you that she would say anything ! I 
suppose it didn’t strike either you or her that there 
would be a certain propriety in asking for my consent.” 

“ Oh, yes, it did ; we shall be inconsolable if you 
don’t give your consent, only that won’t prevent us 


Jj/S (JR A C££. 


it*; 

from marrying without it, you know. Think it over, 
old chap, and don’t look so glum about it. I must run 
down and see my mother now. Of course she is to 
live with us while we are abroad ; Nora made a point 
of that.” 

What further proof could I require that my unhappy 
sister had ceased to be a responsible being ? 


*68 


MS GRACE* 


CHAPTER XXI. 

VENIT HESPERUS ITE CAPELLAE. 

I doubt whether poor Lady Charles was altogether 
enchanted by the news of her son’s engagement, cou- 
pled though it was with the announcement of a plan for 
her future well-being at which she had the good sense 
to laugh. Truth to tell, the match was neither a bril- 
liant nor an opportune one, and some credit was due to 
her for giving her consent to it almost without hesita- 
tion. To be sure, she would have consented to Hurst- 
bourne’s marriage with a negress, if his heart had 
really been set upon so grievous an alliance ; for she 
was one of those women whom Heaven has blessed 
with a sincere belief that the persons whom they love 
can do no wrong. Terque, quatreque beatae ! we ad- 
mire or deride them, as our individual temperaments 
may dictate, but, whatever verdict we may see fit to 
pass upon them, we can hardly deny them the tribute 
of our envy. 

As for my consent, I have already intimated that 
that was not held worthy of a second thought by those 
who might have remembered that I was, after all, the 
head of my insignificant family and the legitimate 


HIS GRACE. 


269 


protector of my only sister. Nora, when she came to 
make her necessary confession to me, was pleased to 
carry things off with a very high hand. She told me in 
so many words that she didn’t care an atom whether 
her conduct struck me as inconsequent or not; she 
said her life was her own and she had a right to do as 
she pleased with it ; furthermore she took the liberty to 
insinuate that, if I didn’t consider the Duke of Hurst- 
bourne to be one of the noblest and most exemplary of 
contemporary magnates, I must have singularly misused 
the opportunities which had been granted to me of 
studying his character. 

“ My dear girl,” I ventured to remonstrate, “ you 
surely can’t have forgotten that your swan was a goose 
only the other day ! Who deplored his unfortunate 
weakness ? Who urged her brother to act as a benev- 
olent mentor to him ? Who was never weary of im- 
pressing upon me that he would always be sure to do 
what those about him did ? ” 

“ I never called him a goose,” she affirmed unblush- 
ingly. “ I did think that he was liable to be deceived ; 
and it is just because he is so much better and simpler 
than commonplace folks like you and me that he was 
in danger of being taken in. Only he hasn’t been, you 
see.” 

“ I’m not so sure about that,” I returned. “ If he 
hasn’t been taken in by you, you may depend upon it 
that most people will say he has.” 

“ Let them ! ” answered Nora, with her chin in the 
air ; “ we can very well afford to despise them and their 
ill-natured tittle-tattle. So long as he is satisfied and 
Lady Charles is satisfied, they may say anything they 
like, for me. Of course I want you to be satisfied too, 


270 


HIS GRACE. 


Phil,” she added, by way of a complimentary after- 
thought. 

My satisfaction was not, I own, wholly unalloyed. 
It is a proud thing, no doubt, to be the brother-in-law 
of a duke ; yet, notwithstanding the fine independence 
of one’s temperament and principles, there are certain 
accusations for which one would rather not afford an ex- 
cuse, and I could hear in advance the pleasant speeches 
which would be made when it should transpire that this 
duke was about to espouse the sister of his factotum. 
Moreover, I didn’t for a moment believe that they would 
manage to keep out of debt. It was all very fine to 
talk about living on second floors ; but to live on the 
second floor of the Hotel Bristol in Paris, for example 
(and that was just the sort of thing that Hurstbourne 
would do), a man ought to have an income of at least 
^5,000, and what I wanted him to do was to live for 
three or four years upon considerably less than half 
that sum. However, I was very soon made aware that 
any remonstrances of mine would be regarded as pure 
impertinences ; so I hardened my heart and endeav- 
ored to persuade myself that my skin was thick 
enough, or ought to be thick enough, to with- 
stand pin-pricks. Lady Charles, for her part, was 
so kind as to assure me that she did not hold me in 
the least to blame for what had occurred. She added 
that she had a strong personal affection for her future 
daughter-in-law and that, although Arthur might have 
done better, he might easily have done worse. 

“ When you come to think of it, his father married 
me,” she remarked, with a quaint touch of humility 
which I did not feel entitled to resent. 

As regards those pin-pricks, I may say that I received 


HIS GRACE. 


271 


a sufficient number of them in due course ; though 
Hurstbourne, I believe, escaped such annoyances. 
Perhaps his friends were content to pity him ; perhaps 
they may have had a not altogether mistaken impres- 
sion that he was an awkward customer to quarrel with. 
What I can answer for is that Lady Deverell didn’t 
quarrel with him : on the contrary, she sent Nora a very 
kind letter of congratulation and a pair of silver-backed 
brushes, as a wedding-present. Paul Gascoigne did 
not rise to quite that height of magnanimity ; but when 
I ran against him, one day, in the street, he stopped 
me to explain at some length that he did not propose 
to take any further steps in the matter that I knew of. 

“ I think,” he observed, “ I made it clear to you and 
to my cousin — at all events I intended to do so — that 
action on my side was simply and solely contingent 
upon action on his ; I have no desire to punish him, 
now that he has recognized in so practical a manner the 
propriety of yielding to my demands. What need there 
was for the outrageous attack which he chose to make 
upon me I am at a loss to understand ; the part which 
you took in the affair, Mr. Martyn, is perhaps mort 
readily comprehensible.” 

That was one of the above-mentioned pin-pricks to 
which I had to submit ; I can’t say that it inflicted very 
severe suffering upon me. The same weekly journal 
which informed its readers of a rumor that “ the young- 
est of our unmarried dukes, having failed to astonish 
the world by a brief and far from brilliant turf career, 
is about to achieve the notoriety that he covets by con- 
tracting a matrimonial alliance with a young woman of 
obscure origin,” contained a more respectful paragraph 
to the effect that a marriage had been arranged and 


272 


HIS GRACE. 


would shortly take place between Mr. Paul Gascoigne, 
M. P., the nephew and residuary legatee of the late 
Duke of Hurstbourne, and Miss Leila St. George, whose 
claim to take rank amongst the prominent beauties of 
the expiring season had been universally admitted. 

When this very impertinent and mendacious news- 
paper fell into the hands of Lady Charles, her indigna- 
tion was extreme. She was for having the editor 
beaten within an inch of his life forthwith, and ex- 
pressed great astonishment that Hurstbourne and I, 
who were so ready to inflict personal chastisement upon 
people whom we didn’t like, should hesitate to beard 
such a scurrilous rascal in his editorial den. “ ‘ Obscure 
origin ’ indeed ! And you stand smiling there, Mr. 
Martyn, as if you thought it rather a good joke that 
your sister should be publicly insulted ! ” 

“ But suppose the insulting statement should be 
true ? ” I suggested — “ suppose our great-grandfather 
should have been, as I strongly suspect that he was, 
an altogether obscure individual ? No, my dear Lady 
Charles, we had better not dispute our obscurity ; but 
we may give this imaginative writer the lie by showing 
that we really don’t covet notoriety. If Hurstbourne 
will take my advice, he will get his wedding over very 
quickly and quietly and leave England immediately 
afterwards.” 

Upon that point Nora was quite of one mind with 
me ; she wished, if that could be managed, that her 
wedding should take place with the utmost secrecy at 
Dover or Folkestone an hour or so before the departure 
of one of the channel boats. But Hurstbourne demurred 
a little. He said he didn’t see why they should be 
married in a hole-and-corner way, as if they were 


HIS GRACE. 


273 


ashamed of themselves ; he hoped his wife would never 
have reason to be ashamed of him, and most certainly 
he should never feel otherwise than proud of her ; he 
was in favor of the parish church of St. George’s, 
Hanover Square, with a Bishop, a full choir, plenty of 
flowers and the requisite supply of red cloth. Event- 
ually a compromise was arrived at which combined 
seemliness with a total absence of ostentation. Nora 
was married from our uncle’s house at a small church 
at Kensington, and only a few near relatives of the 
contracting parties (the contracting parties hadn’t a 
large number of near relatives), were invited to the 
ceremony, which was solemnized, at a Lime of year when 
the fashionable world had deserted London. 

When it was all over, and the bride and bridegroom 
had set out for Paris, on their way to the Tyrol, Lady 
Charles betook herself to Brighton, which had always 
been a favorite resort of hers, while I journeyed north 
to Hurstbourne Castle all by myself. The place was 
to be let for a term of years ; but there were still a 
good many arrangements to be made before it could 
be prepared for the reception of a tenant, and as I had 
nothing else to do, I had undertaken to supervise these. 
To keep Hurstbourne quiet, I had also promised that 
I would continue for the present to draw my usual 
salary — a promise which was the more easily made 
because I had taken care to draw no salary at all for a 
long time past. It was impossible to make him under- 
stand that he couldn’t give away what he hadn’t got. 

I can’t say that the remainder of that summer was a 
very agreeable or a very satisfactory period to me. Noth- 
ing so scandalous had ever before been contemplated 
as the letting of Hurstbourne Castle to some wealthy 
18 


274 


HIS GRACE. 


commercial personage, and, naturally enough, the ten- 
ants, as well as the household servants, were rather 
short in their manner when I attempted to approach 
them upon the old friendly terms. I daresay they might 
have forgiven me if the duke had not married my 
sister ; but that his marriage had something to do with 
his misfortunes was an idea which had evidently taken 
firm possession of their minds, though they refrained 
from giving actual utterance to it. Then, early in the 
autumn, came the news of Mr. Gascoigne’s nuptials 
and of his imminent home-coming with his bride, which 
may have led them to draw distressing and invidious 
comparisons. 

“ I did hear, sir,” Mr. Higgins had the doubtful 
taste to remark to me, “ that his Grace was rather 
sweet upon the young lady at one time. Well, I wish 
it was his Grace that was bringing of her home now — 
that I do ! ” 

In default of his Grace, Mrs. Gascoigne was brought 
home by a husband who, unlike Hurstbourne, was 
enabled to lavish upon her all the luxuries that money 
could buy, and, from what I heard, she had no notion 
of allowing his money to lie idle in his pocket. Having 
to ride over to the neighborhood of Lavenham upon 
a matter of business one day, I encountered her, driv- 
ing a pair of well-matched cobs, and she pulled up to 
inquire what news I had of the exiles. 

“ I am so sorry for the poor duke,” she was kind 
enough to say ; “ I know how he must hate foreign life, 
and how frightfully bored he must be. Still, under the 
circumstances, it is just as well, perhaps, that he should 
remain out of sight until people have had time to 
forget what a fool he has made — oh, I beg your pardon ! 


HIS GRACE. 


275 


I quite forgot that you were his brother-in-law now. 
Please, give him my kindest remembrances when you 
write, and tell him that we have some idea of becoming 
his tenants. Mr. Gascoigne feels that the castle ought 
to be occupied by one of the family ; so, if he doesn t 
want too exorbitant a rent for the place, we may take 
it off his hands.” 

“ Am I to consider this a formal offer, Mrs. Gas- 
coigne ? ” I inquired. 

She hesitated for a moment and then replied : 
“ Well, you can mention it when you write, anyhow. 
Personally, I should be only too glad to do anything 
that I could to help him out of his embarrassments, 
poor fellow ! ” 

It is scarcely necessary for me to say that I did not 
transmit the above kindly message. Some weeks later 
it became my duty to transmit to my brother-in-law a 
message of an infinitely more agreeable character. 
Amongst the entailed estates which he had inherited 
was a barren tract of land, lying some twenty or thirty 
miles to the northward of the Castle, which in the late 
duke’s time had gradually fallen out of cultivation, 
owing to the poverty of the soil, and which we now 
retained in our own hands for grazing purposes. It 
was of little value, as we thought, for that or any other 
purpose ; but a few months before a suspicion had 
arisen of the existence of coal beneath the surface, and, 
permission having been obtained to make investi- 
gations, the suspicion had by this time become con- 
verted into a certainty. I had said nothing about it to 
Hurstbourne, because I knew that if he were told, he 
would at once jump to the conclusion that boundless 
wealth was within his grasp and would act accordingly ; 


276 


HIS GRACE. 


but now I could no longer conceal from him the fact 
that he owned a property the value of which might be 
very great indeed. 

He behaved much more coolly and sensibly than I 
had expected. He gave me full powers to make such 
arrangements as might seem advisable to me, merely 
remarking that, although he should like very well to be 
a rich man, he was perfectly happy as a poor one. He 
wrote from Venice, where he stated that Nora and he 
were having a glorious time of it. If they didn’t spend 
the winter there, they would spend it in ** some such 
place,” he supposed. For his own part, he was game 
to go to any place that Nora might fancy. 

How long this mood would have lasted, or into what 
sort of a poor man Hurstbourne would have developed 
if he had remained poor, it is difficult to say. The 
problem can never now be removed from the calm 
sphere of hypothesis ; for it appears that there is coal 
enough beneath that waste land of his to keep the fires 
of his descendants alight for many generations to come. 
Nora and he returned home early in the ensuing year, 
by which time there was no longer any question of 
letting the abode of his ancestors. They were met, of 
course, by an enthusiastic welcome on the part of their 
tenantry and other dependents, which was, I hope, as 
much a tribute to their personal merits as to their im- 
proved circumstances. But, charitable as I am, I 
cannot go quite so far as to believe that Nora’s un- 
assisted merits would ever have placed her upon that 
pinnacle in high society which she now occupies with 
so much ease and elegance. We live in an age when 
aristocracy is almost, if not yet altogether, synonymous 
with wealth, and the philosophic bystander must be 


HIS GRACE. 


277 


content to note, with rejoicing, that every now and then 
wealth does, by some happy accident, fall to those who 
know how to use it. One of the best uses to which it 
can be put is to distribute it judiciously amongst the 
many who toil in penury so that the few may be rich, 
and I must say for my sister and her husband that 
they do their duty very fairly well in that particular. 
It is needless to add that Hurstbourne has returned to 
the turf ; but he is now so big a man that he can afford 
to eschew the book-makers, and he is going in for 
breeding, which is a far more sportsmanlike and satis- 
factory phase of the pursuit than purchasing animals 
in whom it must be difficult to feel anything beyond a 
pecuniary interest. The Duchess of Hurstbourne and 
Mrs. Paul Gascoigne are not exactly friends ; but they 
speak when they meet, and I can answer for it that 
one of them abstains from saying nasty things about 
the other behind her back. 

Only a few days ago I heard a piece of news which 
had the privilege of amusing me. I always knew that 
Lady Deverell held the Rector of her parish in high 
and deserved veneration ; but I never thought that she 
would display it in so striking a fashion as by the re- 
moval of him and his numerous olive-branches from 
the Rectory to Fern Hill. That, however, is actually 
what she means to do. I had it from her own lips, so 
that there can be no mistake about it. 

“ I can see by your face,” she remarked candidly, 
“ that you think me an old fool ; but perhaps I may not 
be quite such a fool as I look. Although I am old, I 
have an iron constitution ; I may live for another twenty 
or even thirty years — it isn’t in the least unlikely — and 
I don’t enjoy living alone. Mr. Burgess will, at any rate, 


278 


HIS GRACE . 


give me the company of a man whom I admire and 
esteem. As for the children — well, I have a large house, 
and I do not intend to surrender the control of my 
money to anybody. I needn’t say that, at Mr. Burgess’s 
time of life and mine, we aren’t such idiots as to talk 
about marrying for love ; he assures me that he never 
was really enamored of your sister, and, to tell you the 
truth, I shouldn’t have cared a straw if he had been. 
As you know, there was a man once upon a time for 
whom I did care — and who was not worth caring for. 
I have forgiven him now. One forgives, let me tell 
you, Mr. Martyn, chiefly because one forgets, and one 
forgets because one can’t help it.” 

“ It is a pity,” I made so bold as to remark, ** that 
you couldn’t manage to forgive and forget Lord Charles 
Gascoigne a little sooner.” 

“ I can understand your thinking so ; yet I did no 
more than I felt bound to do, and I can’t see that much 
harm has come of it. It is true that although one forgets 
most things, there are one or two which can’t be for- 
gotten, and I suspect that, if your young duke lives to 
be twice my age, he will never succeed in forgetting 
altogether what his father was. So, if I had a grudge 
against him, I daresay we may cry quits.” 

There is no denying that Lady Deverell is a singu- 
larly disagreeable old woman. 


THE END. 



NOV 4 1901 





